


See You on the Other Side of the War

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Dying is Easy, Living is Harder [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Movie Retelling, Sharon Carter as Captain America, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6821989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In 1942 a skinny, scrappy fighter from Brooklyn signed up for an experimental procedure. The goal? To make a super solider capable of turning the tide in the War.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Her name was Sharon Carter.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Young, Scrappy, and Hungry

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> Someone requested a gender swap Sharon-as-Cap story. We love us a good AU and once we started this one just took off. First in a series, because of course it is.
> 
> Guess which insanely popular, record breaking, Pulitzer prize winning Broadway musical we've been listening to non-stop and took our title(s) from!

_St. Mary’s Orphanage, Brooklyn NY_  
_1930_

The nuns had been nice to Sharon on her first day, drying her tears and giving her a cookie. But that was all the sympathy she got for her mother dying. After that she was sent in to the crowded dormitory full of girls and left to fend for herself.

She tried to fend. But they were all bigger than her. And older. And mean. Sharon was the newest and the littlest, so they picked on her. She didn’t back down, though. They’d never stop if you did. 

Then one day, a little girl younger than her showed up. She cried her first night, and the mean girls converged. Finally Sharon could have peace. Instead she leapt out of her bed, and launched herself at the biggest girl. Ruth was 9 years old and the idea that she’d pick on this little girl who probably wasn't even five offended Sharon somewhere deep inside. If she died today, it would be worth it.

Sharon had one very clear memory of her mother, which was more than a lot of the girls here. Mama had been very pretty, blonde and blue eyed and often sad. Sharon had sat with her once when she was crying, though where they were or what had prompted the tears had long been forgotten. Her mother had tucked a lock of Sharon's hair back and said, "People will try to tell you who you are your whole life. Your job is to push back and say no _this_ is who I am."

At the time, she'd been confused and a little worried, but she'd nodded. Now, driving her fist into Ruth the bully's face, she knew exactly who she was. And it was time to start showing the other girls, too.

Ruth hit her back, and so did all her friends. Sharon wasn't going to win, but she wasn't going to stop. Then someone yanked Ruth back, shoving her to the ground. It was the red-haired girl with the Russian accent. Natasha was her name.

Sharon got to her feet, spat blood and put her fists up. Ruth and her friends looked from her to Natasha a few times, as if weighing their odds. A few more punches where thrown. Natasha proved herself a brutal fighter and Sharon held her own. Then the bullies retreated, tossing out idle threats as they did so.

"They think they're important because they grew up here," she said. "They wouldn't last a minute on the street. You probably would." 

"Thanks." Sharon touched her split lip gingerly and tested her teeth for loose ones. "You're tough for how little you are."

"I survive," she said, a mix of pride and defiance. "Who are you again?"

"Sharon."

"Sharon what?"

No one really bothered with last names. Some of them didn't even have proper ones. "Carter. My name is Sharon Carter."

"Natasha Romanov," she replied. "Don't let them make you forget who you are."

It was so like what her mother had said that she had to smile. "It's nice to meet you Natasha."

*

_New York City_  
_1942_

The slurring, unsteady man stumbled his way down the alley, and Sharon dodged him deftly. She went up the rickety steps to the tiny, cramped rooms she and Natasha shared in what might be the dirtiest tenement in the city. But it was still better than the orphanage.

Natasha sat at the table, counting her cash. Sharon folded her arms over her chest. "Explain to me again how this is technically not prostitution?"

"Because I dope them before anything happens, and send them on their way with empty pockets. It's theft and a peep show, at most." 

"Oh, well that's just fine then. What happens when one of them doesn't finish the drink or whatever you're drugging them with. Or it doesn't work? Or it works too well and now it's manslaughter and a peep show."

"Going through with it now and again is not a big deal. And we'll toss the body in the river."

Sharon shook her head and rubbed a hand over her eyes. "Right. As long as you have a plan."

"We're eating, aren't we?" 

She couldn't argue with that. Sharon's factory job paid, but not the way Nat's schemes did. "I just worry."

"You always worry." She got up to start putting together dinner. "Today's guy told me something interesting."

"I'm aware you have magnificent boobs, Nat," Sharon said, scrubbing grease off her hands.

That made Nat laugh. "No. Apparently he works for the army recruiting office, and he told me there is a special program where they are recruiting women. Not as nurses or secretaries, but to actually be part of the fight."

Sharon looked over. "Bullshit."

"He spoke of of _very_ derisively, so I'm pretty sure it's true."

Drying her hands on a towel, she leaned a hip on the counter. "Huh." It probably wouldn't be too hard to ask around about that.

Nat had mischief in her eyes. "I think we should do it."

"And give up your life of crime?" Sharon teased.

"Well, I'm not technically an American citizen, so the lies I'll tell when I enlist will still be crimes."

"I feel better about this already." She tossed the towel next to the sink. "I'm guessing if we both ask around we'll know where to sign up in a day or two."

"Is that a yes?"

"That's a hell yes. I don't want to spend the war putting sprockets on widgets."

*

They were shipped somewhere west of the city, to a training camp behind massive gates. It had a vaguely ominous feel, much like the first time the wrought iron gates of St. Mary's opened in front of her. 

Sharon was about to learn how to be a spy.

Training was hard and intense. Some of it she already knew. You weren't an orphan during the depression without learning to con and grift. She could charm men, though not as well as Nat could. She had quick hands and a faster mind and she could fight. Training just turned it all up higher.

"You're going to have to kill people," Nat whispered to her one night, while they were supposed to be asleep in their bunks.

Sharon tucked her hands behind her head, staring at the cold grey ceiling. "I know. It's a war."

"You're a good person is all. Better than me." 

"Good people do bad things all the time. I'm no different."

Nat rolled onto her side. "Yes, you are. Different. You pick fights you can't win because it's the right thing to do."

She shrugged. "Someone has to do it."

"I just. . .I don't want this to make you different."

"Everybody changes." She looked over at Nat, stretching an arm out to her. "But I'll always be your friend."

Nat reached out and linked hands. "Promise?"

"Pinky promise," she replied, like she had since they were kids in the orphanage.

In the middle of breakfast the following morning, Col. Philips came into the mess and brusquely called for Sharon to come to his office. There were two other men in there—an older one with a beard, glasses, and a lab coat, and young, skinny blond guy in a uniform with a notepad on his lap. "Have a seat," Philips said.

Her skin prickled in concern, but she did as asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all. This is Dr. Erskine, and Agent Rogers. We brought you here to talk about a top-secret program you have been selected to participate in."

"What kind of program?"

Philip gestured at Dr. Erskine, who told her about a serum he had developed that would enhance the human body—physically, mentally, everything. The idea was to create a class of super soldiers, at the absolute peak of human perfection. They wanted the first subject to be a woman. "Women being less likely to cause trouble," Philips added, and in the corner Rogers snorted.

That comment sort of made her want to be contrary and say no, just on principle. But everything else sounded like a dream come true. And so, hoping Nat wouldn't be too mad at her, she nodded. "I'm in."

As it turned out, she wasn't allowed to tell Nat much, and Nat didn't have much time to have an opinion anyway. While Sharon was meeting with Philips, the rest of the women were getting their orders. She was shipping out for England first thing in the morning.

They packed their duffle bags side-by-side and in silence. In the morning, they hugged each other tightly. "Watch your back," she told Nat. "I won't be there to do it for you."

"Don't do anything stupid," she replied.

"Probably too late for that."

Nat chuckled and shook her head. Her eyes were a little red, but never in her lifetime would Natasha Romanov admit to crying. "See you on the other side of the war."

She hooked her pinky with Nat's and nodded. Then they parted ways, her to the car waiting for her and Nat to the transport truck with the other girls.

Agent Rogers was in the backseat, flipping through his paper work. "Mornin' Carter," he said without looking up.

"Agent Rogers," she acknowledged. She was rather proud of how steady her voice was, but she dug her handkerchief out anyway.

"She's a more capable fighter than most of the men we ship out," he said.

"I know." She wiped her eyes and nose and tucked it away again. "Why didn't they pick her for Erskine's serum?"

It took him a moment to answer. "Erskine told me the serum amplifies everything you are. Good becomes great. Bad becomes worse. The less morally gray the subjects are, the better. Natasha is an excellent fighter and will be an excellent spy. She'll do what she needs to do to get the job done. But they thought she was a little too ruthless to be amplified. Plus she's Russian."

Sharon snorted. "Yes. She is all of those things." And Sharon was none of them, she supposed.

"Though god knows why they think _you_ would be docile."

"Most people see what they want to see. I'm guessing on paper I look like a good bet."

He smiled. "I heard about that thing with the grenade."

"That was when I officially decided Philips was an ass."

"Oh, he is. But he likes people who are tough, and possibly a little crazy." He grinned at her.

She smiled in return. "I've been called worse."

The procedure was in a basement underneath an antique store in Brooklyn, of all places. For Sharon, it felt a bit like fate. Coming home again. They strapped her into a huge metal tube, that felt a bit like a coffin when they closed her into it. There was needles and heat and light and a lot of pain. She screamed at first and they tried to shut it down. After that she grit her teeth and rode it out.

When she first stepped out, she didn't feel that different. A little taller, a little straighter. But then the chaos erupted when the German spy shot up the lab, and on pure instinct she took off in pursuit—quite literally mowing poor Agent Rogers down as she went—and discovered she could run as fast as a car.

In the end, she found herself soaking wet, with a dead German spy at her feet, sort of shocked at what she'd just done. Clearly, her life was about to change.

Unfortunately, it didn't change in the way she had hoped. They had wanted an army of soldiers and with Erskine dead that wasn't an option. She was it. And what could you do with one soldier? So they gave her a silly costume and a script and made her a PR mascot.

She performed before crowds surrounded by a chorus of dancers, and shook a hundred hands a day, but it was the loneliest she had ever been in her life. Nat was overseas, and undercover, so there was no way they could even write.

After making a tour of the country and filming God knew how many film reels they took her overseas to play for the troops. It didn't make her feel any better. 

Then one rainy, muddy afternoon somewhere in Italy, a familiar figure sat down beside her. "Hello, Sharon," Agent Rogers said.

"Agent." He'd come along as her handler and had quickly become the only friendly face she saw anymore. 

"You holding up okay?"

Her instinct was to put on her fake USO smile and assure him that everything was fine. Just as she had for every other person that had asked her how she was feeling. But she was tired and she was sad and it wad grey and raining and he sounded sincere. So instead she said, "I wish I'd never signed up for this goddamned special program."

"The part that lead to you being a showgirl or the part that lead to you being in the army?"

"Not really much difference, is there?"

He unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket. "You are capable of so much more than this." He gestured at the stage they were hiding behind.

"Well, I'm sure there's a lot of them that would like to stick me in a lab." He passed over the paper and she frowned. "What's this?" She skimmed the report of a under cover agent being taken prisoner and felt cold. "This is Nat?"

"Philips had me doing some filing while you were on stage." He paused a moment, then added. "I could be court-martialed for giving that to you." 

"Then it's a good thing I was snooping in the admin tent and stole it myself." She scanned it again. "This was nearby."

"The surly men you performed for were the small remains of 107th Infantry. Most of them were killed or captured. Prisoners were taken to a Hydra facility. Everybody knows where it is, it's just impossible to get to."

"What makes it impossible?"

"Thirty miles behind enemy lines, through some of the most fortified territory in the war. Philips thinks we'd lose more men than we'd save."

Sharon folded the paper up and tucked it in a pocket. "Better not send any men, then."

He didn't look all that surprised. "What are you going to do?"

"Start by stealing some clothes that aren't tights. Then probably a jeep. Maybe a plane. A lot of stealing, really."

Rogers stared at her for a moment. "You know how dangerous this is, right?" he asked, as if hadn't brought her that paper so she would do _exactly_ this.

She pinned him with a look. "You said I was capable of more than being a show girl. Did you mean that?"

"I always mean what I say."

"Then help me." She stood, scooping up the stupid tin shield prop they had her carrying around. "Or get out of my way."

That made him grin. "Yes, ma'am. Give me an hour, I might be able to save you the theft."

She found a supply tent and managed to cobble together to an outfit that might not get her shot immediately. The helmets were all too loose so she did end up stealing one from the dancing girls. Then she found herself in a very much not stolen airplane with Agent Rogers being flown by the richest man in New York.

Stark made a joke so vulgar Rogers's ears turned pink. "Sorry. But he was the only one nuts enough to brave this airspace."

It was kind of cute when he got embarrassed. "I grew up on the streets of Brooklyn. Nothing that comes out of Howard Stark's mouth can offend me."

"Right. Well." He handed over what looked like the world's tiniest radio. "Press this button to summon us to come get you." The plane shuddered suddenly under a barrage of incoming fire.  
 Sharon shoved the last buckle into place and headed for the back door. "As soon as I'm clear, turn around and get the hell out of here," she told Rogers, tucking the radio into her leather jacket.

"We'll take you all the way," he said immediately.

"I'm happy to turn around," Stark called from the front.

"Shut up," he yelled back, as Sharon yanked open the plane door. She raised her eyebrows, daring him to argue with her. Instead he pointed at her. "Do not die."

She grinned. "Is that an order?" she shouted over the wind.

"Yes!"

"You can't order me around! I'm a Captain." She paused just long enough to see his expression before shoving herself out of the door into the air.

It was the craziest, most dangerous, most exhilarating thing Sharon had ever done. The jump, sneaking into the facility, fighting her way to the prisoners. It was everything she'd been trained for and never thought she'd ever get to do. For the first time in years, she felt _alive_.

The motley crew of prisoners told her Natasha had been taken to the labs and that no one had come back from that. With the factory shuddering around her and chaos in the yard, she made her way deeper into the building until she found Nat, alive and strapped to a table. "Hey."

"Sharon?" she asked in confusion. "Am I dead?"

"No. No, I'm really here." She unbuckled the straps on her wrists. "I'm breaking you out."

She reached for Sharon's hands. "I don't understand."

"I was touring with the USO. It's a long story. I found out you were here and some friends helped get me close enough to do the rest." She hauled Nat up. "Can you walk?"

"Yes. I can. I can." She swayed on her feet for a moment, then she launched herself at Sharon, wrapping her arms around her.

Sharon lifted her off her feet. "I missed you, too."

The building shuddered again. They had to go. But Nat gripped her arms. "Whatever happens from now on, we do it together."

It was entirely possible Sharon was headed to a court marshal and a trip to the brig after this, but she nodded. "I promise. Now let's _go_."

They fought their way out, to find the people she'd rescued from the small pens had started a jailbreak of epic proportions. They took trucks and tanks and marched 400 people through the forrest back to allied lines. Philips gruffly told her disciplinary action wasn't necessary, and Rogers looked like he was considering kissing her right there in the middle of camp.

Nat got the entire enormous crowd to cheer for her, with a shit-eating grin on her face Sharon hadn't seen in a long time. 

They wanted to give her a medal. It was a big deal, especially since she was a woman. Telling her how very special it was for them to allow a woman to receive it was a sure way to get her not to want it. Instead she went to London with Rogers and a bunch of the prisoners she'd freed - including Nat. She'd gotten a good look at some maps, as had Sharon during her rescue and between them they were able to hand over some very good intel.

Taking out the Hydra bases wasn't a job for an army, it was a job for a small strike team. She put one together out of people she'd already seen in action. Their demographics would make here usual wholesome American audiences faint—a black man, an asian man, a French bomb maker, a Boston drunk and three women (her, Nat, and a British spy who coincidentally had the same last name as her). Philips didn't bat an eyelash, and the only person she asked for that he wouldn't let her take into combat was Rogers. Apparently he had a _long_ list of serious health conditions.

"How are you not 4F?" she asked him over a good strong drink when she broke the news.

"I am. Technically. Took me 5 tries to, well, fake my way into the army." He slugged back his scotch. "The found me out when I almost died of an asthma attack during basic training." He refilled his glass, and hers. "I am the only person to ever get that flag, though."

He'd told her the flag story over a previous drinking session and she grinned at the memory. "Smart beats brawn every day of the week." She chucked his arm lightly. "I'd take you with me if I could."

"I know. I appreciate the invite. I'll be your liaison back here. Keep you on track and out of trouble. Try not to kill Stark. That sort of thing."

"Well, I'll feel good knowing you have my back somehow."

"I will always have you back," he told her.

Sharon had never been entirely sure what to do with men. She couldn't charm them like Nat did and most of the time she found their advances kind of insulting and gross. Her dalliances had been short and intense and, at least the first few times, driven by curiosity as much as anything else. She really didn't know how to handle the things she felt for this skinny little guy who had become second only to Nat as far as friends went. "Thanks, Steve."

He grinned at her. "Go kick some ass."

And they did. Commanders worked months to get the kind of cohesion and fluidity she had in her team. Hydra never really knew what hit them. And back home in London she pictured Rogers updating their map and smirking at their antics. She was in newsreels again, but not in front of a painting, but out in the field, dirty and mud streaked. She was still doing PR, with her special Stark-designed suit and fancy shield. But at least now she was _doing_ something. Fighting side-by-side with friends. Throwing herself into battles because they were the right thing. Sometimes it felt like she'd been born to go to war.

And then Natasha tumbled from a train off the side of a mountain, and the entire world came to a screeching halt.

Sharon spent a lot of time in a burnt out bar after that. She couldn't sleep, because every time she did she saw Nat fall and heard her scream. That was all right, because the serum helped prevent fatigue and sleep deprivation. She also couldn't get drunk, which was not so good. But the bar owner had clearly fled with little to no notice, so there was some excellent liquor to be had. The good stuff burned on the way down, even without getting her drunk. At least she felt something.

"You know, I have opium cough syrup if you'd like to give that a try." Rogers had found her.

"Probably still wouldn't work," she muttered.

"I'm pretty sure you're not completely immune to painkillers," he said, righting a knocked over chair and sitting in it. She handed over the bottle when he reached for it. "Might take a shot of morphine right in the vein, but I could probably dig that up."

"See, your words say you're helping but your tone is sarcastic." She knocked back her drink and sighed. "Why are you here? Found someone else for me to punch?"

He took a swig straight from the bottle. "Zola coughed up the location of the last Hydra base."

So, yes then. "Don't suppose it's somewhere warm and tropical."

"It's in the Alps."

"Of course." She reached for the bottle and he handed it over. "Once more into the breach."

"Sharon," he said softly.

She looked over at him and shook her head. "Don't."

He touched the back of her hand with one finger. "Somebody has to."

She didn't want to cry. She was pretty sure Captain America didn't cry. There had almost certainly been something about that in her contract. "I don't have anything else. I might as well do what they made me to do."

"I would do the exact same thing."

Coming from the guy who'd damn near killed himself getting into the Army, that should probably be a red flag. But at this point, she really didn't care. So she turned her hand over to hold his for a moment. He stood up, and gave her hand a tug. "Come here."

He had to tug her again before she'd get up, chair scraping loudly against the burnt floor as she did so. He hugged her, perhaps the first person other than Nat to do so since she was a very small girl. She had a few inches on him, would have even before the serum, so she could rest her chin on his head without much effort. It was nice, though, to be hugged. She pressed her face into his hair and just held on.

"Okay," he said finally. "Now we go kick some ass."

"We?"

He shrugged. "Turns out you don't need good lungs to drive a tank."

Letting herself get captured was probably the stupidest thing she'd ever done. But plowing through the crowd of Hydra guards had been remarkably cathartic. Her team did its part and once again she found herself in a Hydra base, surrounded by chaos. Only this time, the bad guy wasn't getting away.

And she got him. Technically his own mystical object sucked Schmidt into an abyss, or possibly outer space. It was hard to tell. But he was gone, the Tesseract melted through the steel and fell to the ocean, and she was left with a giant flying bomb.

She called in to base to let them know Schmidt was gone. Steve was on the other end and she was glad. Much as she loved her team, she'd rather have this conversation with him than with them.

"I got to put her in the water."

He did, however, have a way of getting to the heart of things. And seeing right through her. "She wouldn't want you to do this."

Maybe not. But she wasn't here to offer her opinion. "One of the things Nat liked best about me was that I did the right thing. She told me not to let the war change me." She squinted into the pink and gold sky. "This is the right thing to do."

"All right," he said, and then there was silence on the other end of line, as he obviously didn't know what to say. She was just about to ask him to say something, anything, so that she wasn't doing this alone, when he asked, "So I guess this would be a really bad time to ask you on a date, wouldn't it?"

She grinned, even though her eyes burned. She really should have kissed him when she had the chance. "That depends. Where are you taking me?"

"I'd say dancing, but I'm really lousy at it."

"I think I am, too." She took one last look at the sky, then tugged the sticks, sending the nose towards the water. "Maybe we could just get drinks and watch other people."

"If you're nice I might even buy you dinner."

As she broke through the clouds she could see ice in the water and closed her eyes. God, she hated the cold. "Sounds like a good time." She winced as her voice cracked.

Whatever he said in reply was lost in an explosion of fire and ice and rushing water.

She opened her eyes again in a new century.


	2. Wait For It

When Dr. Erskine died, he had already been prepping the next batch. Steve Rogers would be the first male recipient. It was obviously shelved, and Steve thought that was the end of it. As the war wound down, to his surprise Philips called him into his office and told him they had discovered the serum to be used for him. It was custom tuned, and had not worked at all on any of the other people they'd tested it on. Was he still interested?

It was only after his transformation was complete that anyone told him those six volunteers before him had all _died_.

The military, as it turned out, told a lot of lies.

Really, he should have known better. He'd watched what they did to Sharon. Sat through every stupid song and Hitler punch. He didn't know why he expected them to do anything less aggravating with him.

After the war he worked with the Commandos, cleaning up Hydra stragglers and trying to be a spy as Russia closed its borders and kept its secrets.

Going home after all that felt lonely and isolating, so that he was almost relieved when "conflict" started in Asia and they put him on a plane.

Korea had started defensively—help the south, stop the soviets. But it dragged into an ugly, bloody war of attrition, that ground into a hostile truce. By the end, he had had his fill of death and bloodshed. 

It was 1953, and he did what every other vet was doing at the time, which was get a wife and cute little house in the suburbs. He got a job in a factory and drew comics is his spare time. Lillian kept the house and waited for the babies that never came.

Then one day, Howard Stark showed up in his living room.

"You're wasting what you were given."

Steve leaned over the kitchen sink, scrubbing the grime off his hands. "I didn't know it came with a life long obligation to be a soldier."

"Obligation, no. But you're telling me there's no middle ground between that and. . . _this_?" Howard's continued distaste for all things domestic was still strong.

"Is this a sales pitch for sleeping my way through Hollywood instead?"

"You certainly could if you wanted to, but no, this is something new. You remember that British girl Sharon recruited? The other Carter?"

"Peggy. Yes. What about her?"

"She's been working with the SSR, sort of." He waggled his hand and brows indicating a story Steve probably didn't want to hear. "Macho coworkers and Senator McCarthy have soured her a bit to it all and I have just enough Senators' ears to convince them the SSR is obsolete. We're putting together something new and we want you in on it."

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Protecting the country, behind the scenes. Stopping wars before they start." Howard paused, swallowed. "Doing the right thing."

He braced his hands on the sink and bent his head. "She'd want me to help you."

"I like to think so. It won't be war. And it won't be killing. It will be something she'd have been proud of."

And for a bit there, it was. He sold the house on Long Island and he and Lillian moved to the Virginia suburbs. Steve's hours were long, and he traveled a lot, but they built something that really, genuinely gave democracy a chance against communism. He felt purpose like he hadn't felt since they were fighting Hydra. At home, things weren't as good. Lillian resented being so far from her family, and felt out of place in their kid-filled neighborhood. It was his fault they couldn't have children, and resentment had begun to seep into every crack. Steve was too busy helping keep the USA and the USSR from destroying the world over Cuba to pay too much attention.

By 1964, he was certain of a couple of things. That President Kennedy had been shot by a Russian operative. That Martin Luther King was right. That Vietnam would be a terrible mistake. That his marriage was over. And that he was 46 years old, and still didn't look a day over 25.

Lillian left him before he could muster up the nerve to do it himself. It was a relief, in many ways, for her as well as him. They sold the house and he got an apartment closer to DC. He didn't do as many jobs as he had once, and might have quit all together, but Peggy was starting to look grey and tired and Howard was retreating into his inventions and growing bitter. Steve couldn't bring himself to abandon his friends.

Vietnam happened and became the mess he'd known it would be. Peggy lamented that the world was going to hell and Howard raged that he was hobbled by small minds and Steve wondered what Sharon would have thought of all of this.

In 1969 Howard got married. The next May he became a father and Steve and Peggy shared a drink and waited for hell to freeze over and pigs to fly.

"I don't know that he grasps how hard parenthood is," Peggy muttered. She had two kids of her own. The older one was a senior in college and had been arrested two or three times at anti-war protests. Steve could never quite tell if Peggy was angry or proud about that. Certainly their government overseers were not happy about it.

"You really think he's going to parent? Maria will do that, he'll hide in his lab."

Peggy sighed deeply and sipped her drink. "Poor Maria. I don't know that she knows what she's gotten into, either."

Steve's drink didn't do anything for him. It hadn't since the serum. He thought of that long ago night, sitting in a bar with Sharon, jokingly offering to find her morphine. Stuff like that had been easier to come by, back then. "You ever miss the old days?"

"More that I like to admit." She smiled and shook her head. "Maybe it's nostalgia, but it all seemed simpler then. The good guys wore white hats and the bad guys and swastikas and silly mustaches. Now it's all a muddle."

"I wonder if that means we're the bad guys."

"Maybe there's no good and bad anymore. Just a thousand shades of grey and everyone doing the best they can."

There was a stretch of quiet, then he asked, "Do you think she would have done any better than us? If she'd lived?"

When she spoke, Peggy's voice was suspiciously tight. "I don't know. But I think sometimes how disappointed she'd be."

"That should tell us something, shouldn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it should." She knocked back her drink and looked at him. "I'm losing you, aren't I?"

"I'm not aging," he said. "There no natural end to. . . anything, really. I'm just going to have to start drawing lines in the sand."

Nodding, she gestured to the bartender for another drink. "You should go," she told him, voice firm again. "Find something that makes you happy."

"Maybe you should go, too," he told her. "Buy that beach house Daniel's always talking about. Get some fresh air and keep this job from eating your marriage."

She waited while the bartender put a new glass in front of her. "I've started the process. I need to find someone to take over."

"Good," he said emphatically. He wondered briefly if she'd been thinking of trying to get him to take over. If she was, she would never say so.

He left SHIELD soon after. Peggy didn't, though she did buy the beach house and started taking vacations. Maybe she couldn't find anyone to take over. Maybe she thought she'd go mad with nothing to do. Daniel seemed happy with the vacations, or so he seemed when Steve visited them one year. Who was he to give marriage advice, anyway?

Since he didn't really have anything or anyone, he wandered the country for a decade or two, taking whatever jobs he could. He ended up in California for a while. He loved the culture and the food and the weather. In 1975, he got his first ink in San Francisco in a fit of inebriated nostalgia (as it turned out, he'd been pretty much right all of those years ago about morphine—heroin got him pleasantly buzzed). With his altered cellular structure, tattoos didn't last more than ten years, but he kept up on them anyway, documenting the evolving story of his life, altering his body in a way that _he_ chose.

In 1991 Howard and Maria Stark died in a car accident. Peggy finally retired, looking far older than her years. Steve went back for the funeral and they spent the night in her den, reminiscing about Howard and Sharon and the war and all the ones they'd lost. She cried, for the first time he could remember seeing. The next day she and Daniel left for their beach house and Steve got a tattoo in Stark's honor.

Six weeks later, he got a call from a lawyer. Howard Stark had left him money, and the deed to property on the California coast—in the middle of nowhere halfway between San Francisco and LA. There was a letter for him, too, though it contained only a single scrawled sentence.

_I wouldn't have done it if I'd known it would make you immortal._

The property was tucked among redwoods, far enough from any road that all he could hear, even with his advanced senses, was the wind and the birds and the roar of the ocean on the other side of the trees. The money was enough for him to live on for a long time, especially if he invested well and lived simply. Building a cabin entertained him for over a year, and time away from the world was oddly refreshing. So he stayed there, lost in the California redwoods, while the world went to hell and back, all on its own.

There was one thing that turned around in his head over and over, all those. He didn't age. He healed from anything. The last man alive who'd really known how the serum worked had thought him immortal. That same man had spent years of his life, and a hunk of his fortune, trawling the ocean floor in the frigid north Atlantic searching for Sharon. It had seemed a fool’s errand for just a body.

The logical conclusion of all of that was that Sharon might not be dead. And that was a thought that kept him up at night, on the rare times he allowed it to form properly. Dying to save the world was one thing - stupid and suicidal as it might have been - being stuck at the bottom of the ocean for decades was something entirely different.

He'd managed to keep the thought at bay for a long time, had all but convinced himself that she was dead and gone and he was he only one of his kind, when he went into town for supplies and saw newspapers boasting headlines about aliens invading New York. And in the pictures under those headlines was a woman with a blonde ponytail and shield that he'd have known anywhere.

*

Sharon spent the days after the Battle of New York helping with clean up. Without her shield and outfit no one seemed to recognize her, despite how many pictures and videos of her were out there now. She enjoyed the anonymity. The people she met were nice and kind. And it wore her out so she could actually sleep without dreaming of aliens and nukes and that goddamned tesseract. 

Less than a month ago, she'd watched it destroy Schmidt. Then a week ago she'd watched two gods from another realm take it back where it had gone. The team she'd been a part of had drifted apart as quickly as it had come together. And she was alone again. In a world she didn't recognize with everyone she'd ever loved gone.

SHIELD had set her up in an apartment in Brooklyn. It was small; cozy bordering on cramped. But she didn't really have much stuff, so what did she care. There was a gym in Hell's Kitchen that was open odd hours and didn't mind when she broke the odd bag here and there. Maybe she could find a way to carve out a life.

She didn't quite trust Nick Fury, but she'd fought a good part of the Battle side by side with James Barnes, a former Russian assassin who also now worked for SHIELD. His past was pretty shady, but there was something about Barnes she liked, a certain honesty under seven layers of slick camouflage. He reminded her, in a way, of Nat.

Barnes she trusted enough to ask him for files, curious about the fate of all of those she lost. She knew what happened to Howard Stark thanks to his son. Steve Rogers had been one of the founders of SHIELD, had retired in the early 70's and they'd lost track of him. His health being what it was, she expected he was long dead. His file was full of a tremendous amount of black ink. Of the rest of the Commandos, only Peggy was still alive.

She made her way down to DC one weekend to see her, found her in a nursing home. Peggy wept when she saw her and they hugged for a long time. But it took only a few minutes of talking to realize Peggy thought it was the forties and Sharon had only gone into the water a few days ago. She left feeling worse than she had before hand.

Sometimes she went to bars, drank watered down liquor and went home with whatever guy was brave enough to approach her. It was usually pleasant enough, but it did nothing for the nightmares and she had to be constantly aware of her strength. The internet sold marvelous toys, and she didn't even have to choke down middle shelf whiskey.

One of the last things Peggy had said to her was that she needed to go see Steve. It had seemed obviously part of her memory loss and confusion, and Sharon hadn't thought much of it.

Then one afternoon there was a knock on her apartment door, and there in the distorted lens of the peephole was very clearly Steve Rogers, as if he'd been frozen in time.

For a moment, it was hard to breathe. It was impossible. It had to be impossible. It was his grandson or nephew or something. There was no way Steve Rogers was standing on the other side of her door looking exactly as he had the way she'd last seen him.

She forced herself to open the door, very slowly, and found he wasn't _exactly_ the same. He was taller than her now, by several inches. Not to mention the hundred pounds of lean muscle he'd put on. Sharon thought about all those black lines in his file and covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh Steve. What did they do to you?"

His eyes searched her face, like he couldn't believe she was real. "I was the second subject," he told her.

Her breath came out like a sob and she lurched forward, throwing her arms around him. He lifted her clear off her feet and staggered them into the apartment. Inside, he kicked the door closed behind him. "I gotcha," he whispered.

She had hugged him once and only once. He'd come up to her chin and she'd had to barely hold him for fear of hurting him, but he had smelled just like this. And that, as much as anything convinced her she wasn't dreaming. "I can't believe you're real."

He laughed a little. "Likewise."

His laugh relaxed her, made her smile. Lifting a hand, she ruffled his hair. "You owe me dinner."

"Name the date," he replied. He looked at her for a long moment, then leaned down and kissed her.

Her first thought was, _Well, if he hadn't, I would have._ Then she sunk her fingers into his hair and stopping thinking, just kissing him back. Maybe he'd intended it to stay a simple kiss. Relief and joy and welcome. But their history simmered just under the surface and it didn't take much for it to burst into flame.

This was something to feel, and it felt _good_. She shoved the jacket off his shoulders, and felt his fingers move beneath the hem of her t-shirt at her waist, just barely touching skin. The kiss turned urgent and a little desperate. Her ass hit the back of her couch and she realized they'd been backing deeper into the room, all but unconsciously.

He lifted his head and looked down at her, question in his eyes. For a moment there was no sound in the room but their harsh breathing. She touched his cheek, running her thumb along his lower lip. There were no words she could think of to tell him how much she wanted him right then. That she'd wanted him even when he was skinny and sort of her boss and for her that had only been a month ago. That she was so, so tired of sleeping with strangers and somehow feeling more alone everyday.

Something did occur to her, though, that made her want this all the more. "I won't hurt you," she whispered. Not a promise or reassurance, but a realization. Not only did he know who she was, he was a match for her.

He grinned, and she remembered back in the day how she could sometimes make him smile like that. "Likewise. First time in 70 years that's true," he said, faint hum of sadness beneath the words. She'd lost everyone, and so had he. Only he'd watched it happen in real time.

Her heart broke for him and she wanted to take that sorrow away from him. If only for a little while. So she cupped his face in her hands and drew him down for another deep kiss. His hands flexed on her hips and she lifted her mouth, resting her forehead on his. "I want this," she murmured. "I want to feel you - feel something."

She felt as much as heard his sigh, and there was a little contentment in it. "I know. And I know _you_." They way he said it made her think he slept with a lot of strangers, too.

He had tattoos on his forearms, and when she pulled his t-shirt up and off, she found they sprawled up over his shoulders and down his chest. Some looked new, many were faded, some so faint you could barely see them. 

She let fingers trail along the ink. He had her shield on his chest and she made a point of circling it with the pad of her thumb. "These are lovely."

"They only last a certain number of years. I usually let them fade and move on. That one was my first. I've had it re-inked half a dozen times."

Her heart tightened at that. She pressed a gentle kiss to the circle of color then stretched up to kiss his mouth. "Thank you."

"You were the best person I'd ever met," he replied. Then his hands were under her shirt, pulling it up over her head so he could look at her, too. She had been settling in for a lazy afternoon, and had nothing on underneath the t-shirt. She was as perfect as she'd been when she went in the ice. As perfect as she'd been since she'd stepped out of the serum pod. No wrinkles, no scars. At least none that could be seen. 

His hands were warm and callused against the soft skin of her stomach and breasts. He explored her the way she had him. Her nipples tightened at the sensation. "My imagination didn't quite do you justice," he told her. Then he pulled her close, her breasts pressing against his bare chest. It felt very real, and very intimate.

He was studying her, eyes intense. She flattened her hands on his back and met his gaze. "I want to make thing one thing very clear." His brow arched. "I would totally have slept with you when you were smaller."

Steve laughed. "I think you'd have killed me."

She grinned. "Maybe. But the desire was definitely there."

He ran his thumbs around the top waistband of her jeans, pausing at the button before popping it. "You were ten miles out of my league."

"I wasn't. You were the only person who treated me like I was normal." Except for Nat, but she wasn't going to poke that particular wound right now.

He looked at her for a long moment, and his voice was a rough when he said, "Likewise."

Maybe this was a bad idea. There was clearly a lot of emotions bubbling between them. She should take a step back and think this through. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. She'd meant what she said. She wanted to feel something, even pain. Even grief. So she reached down and shoved her jeans down, kicking them aside to leave her naked.

He kissed her again, pulling her against him and lifting her up. She held on easily, and he carried her like she weighed nothing. "Bed?"

"Through there." He hefted her higher and carried her through the door she pointed to. She hadn't slept in her bed in days, using the room mostly to keep her clothes. The bed was made, though, the mattress top of the line. Not that she cared at the moment. They probably could have made a bed of nails work at this point.

He dropped her on the bed just long enough to shed his jeans before joining her. His tattoos were kind of everywhere, she noticed. They rolled as they kissed, ending up with her on top of him, which seemed to have been his goal. "I want to watch you."

The way he looked at her made her skin flush. She ran her hands over him, enjoying the feel of his skin and the map of his life she found. Here a star, there some words, so faded she could no longer read them. There was the faint outline of the Golden gate bridge on one arm and a towering redwood on his thigh, done like a water color.

When she'd looked her fill, she shifted to straddle him properly, curling her fingers around the impressive erection thrusting up from a dark thatch of hair. His lids fluttered at the touch so she stroked a moment before lifting up to take him inside. He groaned and his hands clutched her thighs, digging into the muscle and skin in a way that might hurt a normal woman. But he let her set the pace.

She started slow, relaxing into an easy rhythm. He felt good, stretching her in the best of ways. There really was something to be said for knowing your partner, for having attachment and affection for them. She wanted him to feel good and she wanted him to enjoy the show.

He was watching her, his eyes dark. "You are perfect."

She gave him a crooked smile. "So are you."

Slowly he stroked his hands up and back down her body, mapping her like she had him. He pressed his fingers above where the joined, moving her clit in slow circles. She moaned, legs trembling at the sudden rush of heat that caused. She lost her rhythm rocking on him gracelessly for a moment. His fingers kept moving and she let her head tip back, grinding on him as she neared her climax. "Come on, baby," he growled. "Let me see it. Let me feel it."

She whimpered at the words, at the fact it was _Steve_ saying them to her. Covering his hand with her, she pressed his fingers tight against her and moved against them, getting just the right pressure. She thrust against him, hard enough to rock the bed, and then she started to shake, heat pouring through her. Her body clenched and shuddered with the force of it.

"Fuck," he gasped, thrusting up with enough force she had to hold on. It made her come harder, feeling him lose control right along with her.

Sinking on top of him, she pressed her face into his shoulder. They were both breathing hard, still connected, bodies slowly calming. Eventually he sighed. "I missed you."

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't think you were alive."

"I didn't think _you_ were alive." He took a shuddery breath. "Were you. . .awake?"

She hesitated before answering. He probably didn't want to know the truth and part of her wanted to lie to spare him. Finally she rolled off and said, "I don't know. I remember dark and cold and feeling like my skin was burning. But there's no sense of time. When I woke up at SHIELD they tried to pretend it was still the 40s but everything just felt wrong."

"They tried to—Jesus. What a bunch of idiots." He tucked his hands behind his head. She noticed he had a very faded hourglass tattoo on the back of his elbow.

Unable to resist, she reached out and touched it. "They did it really poorly, too. Either they did no research or it was some sort of test of my mental faculties."

"With Fury it was probably the latter. He likes mind games."

"Yeah," she sighed. "I noticed." They were silent for a stretch. "It's so strange," she finally said quietly. "The war and everything seems like only a few weeks ago. But everything about the world reminds me it's not. I don't know what to do with myself half the time."

"Are you happy here?"  
 She was tempted to ask if he meant "here" as in the future or this particular little apartment. she supposed it didn't really matter. "No."

"This might sound nuts—and it does not include any sort of requirement that you share my bed—but do you want to come back to California with me? I have a place in the middle of nowhere. Lots of trees, ocean views. Have a little peace and figure out the future. I have a lot of books."

There was a time the idea of a house in the middle of nowhere would have sounded like a certain kind of hell. She had lived in cities all her life. But now New York seemed to loud and fast and foreign. Maybe getting away from it was exactly what she needed. "I'd like that."

He leaned in to kiss her. "I'll get us tickets."


	3. Take a Break

They flew into San Jose and picked up his jeep from long term parking. Steve took the longest but most scenic drive, up over the Santa Cruz mountains and down the coast. He could actually see Sharon unwinding a little.

They stopped in Carmel for lunch, at a cute little place that looked like it had probably been there since the 40's. "The modern world can be very overwhelming," he commented.

"It's loud." She dunked sourdough bread into her chowder and looked out the window at the quiet street. "I know intellectually there were cars and yelling and lots of people before. But it just all seems more frantic now." She smiled. "Barnes thinks maybe I pick up wifi signals or something. With the advanced senses."

"Everything is faster now. People and information and life. Everything is on all the time, information coming from every corner of the globe. I've been living sort of off the grid the last 20 years, and every time I come out I can't believe how much faster it's gotten." He paused. "I don't have a television, though I do have internet when the weather cooperates. The internet is honestly pretty fabulous. If sometimes maddening."

"Barnes showed me how to use it. And set me up with something called Netflix so I can watch movies. That's pretty fun."

"Barnes is one of your Avengers?" he asked.

She nodded. "I spent a lot of the Battle with him. He was a Russian assassin who defected. No powers, just training. And a complete lack of self preservation and desire to make amends for past wrongs." She poked at the ice in her drink with her straw. "We got along."

"Oh. With the arm?" he asked, gesturing at his left arm. James Barnes had a metal prosthetic left arm. "I've heard of him. Peggy still calls me when she thinks Fury is doing something stupid. Or, well, she used to."

"I imagine she thought bringing a Russian spy into the fold was a bad idea?"

"Yes. But he was brought in by someone she trusted. . . clearly they worked it out. I heard he's one of their best agents now."

She tilted her head thoughtfully. Sometimes it really was like he'd gone back in time. He never thought he'd see that particular expression or head tilt again. "I think he was sort of supposed to be my handler. I don't think he was checking up on me out of the goodness of his heart."

"Well," he said in a moment of honestly, "You _do_ usually need looking after."

She gaped at him and tossed a crumpled up napkin, which he neatly dodged. "He's only slightly worse at it than you are."

"I took perfectly good care of you," he replied.

"I suppose the whole stole a plane for me to smuggle me into enemy territory thing could go both ways."

"You'd have gotten yourself killed trying to drive there if I hadn't."

She was grinning, which might have been the happiest he'd seen her since before Natasha died. "It's nice to have someone to reminisce with."

"Yeah. It's been lonely watching everyone die."

Her face fell and she looked down at her food. "I can't imagine. It was hard enough getting it all at once. Watching it happen-" She shook her head. "And eventually you must have realized you weren't aging."

He swallowed. "That was rough for a while there. I was married for a while and it was one of the many reasons we got divorced." That Lillian had aged and he hadn't had really bothered her. It was just one thing on the pile, but it hadn't helped. "Howard told me he wouldn't have done it if he'd known it would make me immortal." 

"I wouldn't have agreed to it if I knew." She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. "I can't wrap my head around it yet. It's too big."

"I've been working on it since the 60's and I still can't. But at least now my recurring nightmares about you will probably stop." He glanced in the direction of the pacific ocean visible on the other side of the restaurant window. "Howard spent years looking for you. I know it ate at him." 

"Yes, Tony mentioned that." He looked back at her, but couldn't read her expression. "Gotta say, learning that Howard had a kid and got married was one of the bigger surprises of the twenty first century."

"Does it surprise you that he was a _terrible_ father?"

"No, not at all. Tony practically has a 'father issues' tattoo on his forehead."

The check came, and Steve pulled cash out of his wallet to pay for it. Everyone these days used cards for everything, but if at all possible he still paid for things with actual money. "I'd pretty much checked out by then. Part of me wishes I hadn't."

"He almost died," Sharon said quietly. "In the Battle. I told him he wasn't the guy to lie down and let his buddy crawl over him. And in the end. . . he was much more than that." She swallowed hard and stood, gathering up her coat and bag. "I used to be a better judge of people."

"Or maybe he needed you to egg him into taking a good honest look at himself." 

She smiled thinly as he stood and they made their way out of the restaurant. Once outside, she took a deep breath of the air, salty and cool. "It is peaceful here."

He grinned. "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

They piled back into the Jeep and kept going south, winding down 1. The ocean spread out to the right and Sharon seemed to spend most of the drive looking out at it. The sun was creeping down towards the water, turning the sky a riot of colors when he turned off the long, unpaved path that would take them to his house.

"I see why you have the Jeep," Sharon commented, bracing a hand on the roof as they went over a particularly deep rut.

"When I first moved here, you could only get up by foot or ATV. Or, well, I guess horse, if I had a horse. Took a while to widen the trail. It's worth it, though." The view, and the privacy, where he'd built his house up the other side of the canyon were made up for now inaccessible the spot was.

They came around the last curve and the house came into view, a cozy lodge style cabin with a steep peaked roof. It nestled in a redwood grove, ringed by porches and decks with views of the trees and ocean. A path wound down away from the dirt patch where he parked, leading eventually to a small river and old mine shaft left over from Gold Rush days.

He came to a halt and Sharon climbed out, looking around. He watched her take in the views and the towering trees and the complete and utter lack of civilizations and her shoulders visibly loosened. She came around the car and hugged him without a word.

He _knew_ she would understand. So he rocked her and rubbed her back for a moment, then said, "Come on, let me show you around."

They gathered up the bags and walked the small stone path he'd put in to help with mud in the winter. Two giant sequoias with only four feet between them prevented vehicles from getting any closer. "I call this The gGate. Everything that I built the house with, or that went in it, had to fit through this." He glanced back at her. "You haven't lived until you've dug a foundation without a backhoe."

She smiled. "You really did build it yourself, didn't you?"

"I lived in a tent for a year," he said by way of confirmation. "If there's one thing I've got, it's time. And plenty of strength. The cabin wasn't large, but it had lots of glass and light, and all the usual amenities. "My bedroom is the loft above the living room," he told her pointing. "I don't have a lot of need for separation of space. But I can put some curtains up and sleep on the couch or whatever you'd prefer."

"I'm all right," she said. "I don't sleep a lot."

"Neither do I. Except here."

She looked at the house thoughtfully at that bit of information, then followed him up the steps onto the front porch. Once inside, he put their bags down and watched her take in the room and the views out the window. He had another moment of dissonance at the fact she was actually here, in the cabin he'd built fifty years after she died.

"I've never brought anyone here before."

Turning away from the window, she walked over to him. "Thank you. For this."

He held out a hand to her. "You can stay as long as you wish."

She slid her hand into his, weaving their fingers together. Slowly he pulled her closer so he could kiss her, because it was the only thing in the world he wanted to do. She melted against him, just like the first time, arms sliding around him. He had had no intentions when he'd invited her here. He still didn't. But she seemed to need this connection as much as he did.

What happened in New York could have been a one-time thing. Their reunion was a mess of emotions that could be blamed for nearly anything. Yet right now he wanted her, just as much.

He had all but convinced himself that it was just him and he would need to step back and give her space when he felt her hand slide under his shirt and splay flat on his lower back. "Please," he choked out, even though he absolutely was not going to ask.

She leaned back, just enough to look at his face. There was a thousand unsaid things in her eyes, hanging between them. Sex was only going to mask them, tangle them up further. But when she smiled and leaned in to kiss him again there was only heat and urgency and need. Decision made, he backed her towards the ladder up to his loft. When they bumped into it, he lifted his head to say, "Climb."

She nipped at his lower lip and turned, gripping the ladder. "I should make you fuck me here," she tossed over her shoulder as she put a foot up.

He caught her waist and kissed the back of her neck. "The view is better upstairs."

"View's pretty good wherever you are," she told him. She pressed into him a moment before scaling the ladder in a few quick motions. He grinned and scrambled up after her.

His loft was in the peak of the house, windows at either end and skylights above. Beyond the end of his bed, you could see the riotous sunset over the ocean. Sharon was distracted by it, and he came up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. "See?"

Covering his arms with hers, she leaned back and he took her weight easily. "At night you must be able to see a million stars."

He slid his hands into her jeans. "You can see the galaxy."

"Oh." The word was barely audible. Widening her stance, she pressed more firmly against him, giving him easier access. He cupped her sex and felt her hips rock. "Yes," she breathed. "Touch me."

He slid two fingers into her wet heat and fucked her with them slowly. "Like that?"

"Yes." Reaching back she wound her arm behind his neck, stroking his hair. He could see down the length of her body, and while he might have preferred her naked, the sight of his hand disappearing into her jeans was almost painfully arousing.  
 Sharon turned her head and he found her mouth, kissing her roughly. "Make me come," she whispered. "I want to come for you."

He withdrew his hand, which made her whimper. Before she could do anything else, he picked her up by her waist and tossed her onto his bed. Without him having to ask, she lifted her hips so he could yank her jeans down and off. She spread her legs for him, and he brought his mouth down on her. This time they were going to do this _right_.

Her fingers raked through his hair as he teased and tasted her. He'd half expected her to protest or try to regain control. But she seemed perfectly happy to moan and squirm under his ministrations. Maybe she wanted to lose control, even for a little while.

He found her clit with the tip of his tongue and felt her nails on his scalp. "Please," she whispered, voice thick. "Oh please, please." So he did exactly that, while she cried and begged him, until he felt her buckle and break. His licks and sucks never stopped, coaxing her through what seemed to be a long, hard climax. Finally she pushed at him rather firmly and he lifted his head to witness possibly the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. Sharon Carter, sprawled half naked on his bed, flushed and panting, nipples hard and dark under the fabric of her shirt.

For second he thought about stopping to take her shirt off, but he just _couldn't_. He need both hands to get his jeans off. She leaned up a little and he kissed her, messy and deep. He hooked one of her knees over his arm to hold her wide as he pushed into her. She was slick and tight, her muscles still rippling around him in the echoes of her climax.

She clenched around him, gasping a little. "You feel so good," she whispered as he pulled back and thrust again. And again. Her head tipped back with a moan. He wanted to tell her the same, but only an inarticulate sound came out. It didn't matter. It was rough and fast and she was with him.

Their bodies slid together as they moved, and she pressed her fist against her mouth to try and contain the sounds she was making. This time he managed to find his voice. "We're alone. Scream all you want." She made a small noise, and squeezed around him, like the thought turned her on.

After that she alternated between progressively louder moans and sharp explicit words. Praise at how good he felt. Pleas to fuck her harder, which he happily obliged. This was Sharon stripped of the heavy burdens she had always carried with her. This was her letting go, something he was quite certain he was the only man alive to ever see.

Just when he thought he couldn't take it any longer, he hitched her leg higher and she jerked with a cry. "Steve, Steve." Her nails bit into his shoulder and he felt the ripples of an orgasm start to flex around him. "I'm coming, I'm coming." She repeated it until it became a wail and she was gone, shaking and arching beneath him.

He didn't worry about hurting her, about watching his strength, about letting go. He lost himself in her body, until the world was nothing but a dark haze of pleasure. It was the most intense thing he'd ever felt.

When it had passed he found them tangled together, her body pulsing around him in the aftershocks of her climax. He lifted his head slightly and she cupped his face, kissing him. There was really nothing either of them could say.

They lay there like that, kissing intermittently and breathing in sync, until the last remnants of sunset were gone. It was pitch black save for a crescent moon outside—and a riot of stars. "Feel like some dinner?" he asked her.

She smiled, glancing past him at the stars. "I could eat."

"Watch your eyes, I'm turning on the light." It was so dark in there even his enhanced eyes couldn't quite see the ladder well enough to get down safely. Though, really, they could both probably jump fine.

Sitting up, she shielded her eyes with her arm as he reached over for the light switch. After blinking rapidly a moment she looked over at him. "You okay?"

They had a lot of stuff they should talk about. And they would eventually. But for the moment he was happier than he'd been in such a long time. So he grinned at her. "I'm great."

His grin seemed to trigger hers and she leaned over to give him a smacking kiss on his cheek. "Good."

The things they needed to talk about. . . they never did. Instead they spent time talking about the 70 years of history she missed and the finer details of the modern world. They hiked the woods and watched the ocean. He worked on house maintenance and she read her way through the library that covered the entire southern wall of his cabin. They had a great deal of absolutely blistering sex. It was quiet and peaceful and the best summer he'd had in many, many years.

*

Sharon sat on the deck of the house, watching Steve chop wood and wondering, half seriously, if she had died and this was heaven. She'd been raised Catholic by the nuns in the orphanage, though they'd gotten to her too late for most of it to stick. She was sure sex in a cabin by the ocean hadn't been mentioned in any of her catechisms, but sometimes it felt like the only reasonable explanation for the last few months. And when those thoughts came she would occasionally feel guilty, which was her best evidence that this was real. 

She was about to get up to go make lunch when she heard the roar of a vehicle coming up the road. Steve clearly heard it too because he stopped chopping, burying the axe in the stump. They walked down the path together, going as far as The Gate and waiting for the black SUV to come into view. It had government plates and freshly scraped-up paint. This was clearly it's first time off road. 

When it parked, Nick Fury himself climbed out. "Jesus Christ, Rogers, you really meant it when you said "middle of nowhere"."

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "When I said that twenty years ago the road was way worse."

"Glad I didn't visit then." He slammed the SUV door and adjusted his coat. It was well into the 70s and sunny, but still he wore his black duster.

"Why are you here now?" Sharon asked, though the pit in her stomach gave her a pretty good idea.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said. He glanced at Steve. "Confidentially."

Steve's eyebrows went up. "My clearance is still standing."

Fury looked like he was about to get stubborn, so Sharon piped up, "Anything we talk about I'm just going to tell him later."

He sighed. "Fine. Shall we?"

Sharon really, really didn't want to. But he'd come all this way and they weren't really set up to hold off an invasion. So they turned and walked back up to the house, Fury following behind them.

She gestured for Fury to sit in the living room. Steve went into the kitchen—which was really just an open corner of the room and only a few feet behind the couch—but it did give them a little bit of space. Sharon sat on the other end of the couch.

"We need your help," he said.

And that was exactly what she'd been worried about. "More aliens?"

"Not exactly. But the level of general alarm has ratcheted up significantly since then. We are trying to put plans in place to deal with such an event again. Shore up current security, get everyone on the same page, build something workable. So no one panics and tries to nuke a US city."

She looked down at her hands. "What would I be doing?"

"Helping me figure that out. If you're willing, we'd also like you to co-lead the strike team with Agent Barnes. After what happened to him in New York, Agent Barton decided to take a long leave of absence that might be permanent. Barnes is a pain in the ass, but he doesn't trust a lot of people, yet is very fond of you."

That made her smile a little, even though she knew it was probably a plot. She hadn't hidden her attachment to Barnes much. She glanced over at Steve, who was very pointedly not looking at them. "Strike team. Like I was doing in the war?"

"Yes. I'll let you vet your team—except Barnes, you're stuck with him—and I'll even give you veto power on missions. Usually."

That usually was going to come back and bite her, she just knew it. "Do you need an answer right now?"

"Not really. But whatever your answer is, you already know it. Careful risk analysis and Pros and Cons charts aren't exactly your style. Carter."

It annoyed her that he was right and that he knew her well enough to know it. She looked over at Steve again, to find his shoulders slumped in resignation. Because he knew her, too. "I assume you want me to start immediately?"

"I understand if you need to give your current gig two weeks notice, but pretty much, yeah." 

Behind her Steve made a noise of irritation, probably because that was an unnecessary level of sarcasm.

"Enjoy the drive back out to 1, Fury. I'll see you in DC."

He nodded, and stood. "Rogers," he said on the way out.

"Fury," Steve replied through a clenched jaw.

She waited until she heard the SUV start up and the sound recede before saying softly, "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," he said, even though she knew it wasn't. He had the components of lunch on the counter and began assembling them sandwiches.

She moved to the table and watched his hands move. "I've been really happy here."

"But now you're ready to rejoin the world?"

Ready was probably an overstatement. It was hard to put into words what she was feeling, but for him, she tried. "You had decades to get here. To live in the world and grow tired of it and find peace. I was only out of the ice a few weeks before you found me and so much of that was a blur I just." Swallowing hard, she looked around the cabin, up at the loft. "I don't deserve this yet."

She could see him flinch. Then he flattened his palms on the counter and took a couple of breaths. "I'm not the gatekeeper of purgatory, Sharon. You've always been welcome to leave."

"I didn't. . . Steve, that's not what I meant."

"I have lived my very long life and chosen my exile. You have every right to go live yours." He put one of the sandwiches on a plate and pushed it towards her. Then he began putting the perishables back in the fridge.

Clearly trying to explain had been the wrong choice. She rubbed a hand over her eyes and bit back the lump forming in her throat. Anything she could think to say would just make it worse, so the forced herself to take a bite of sandwich.

"I want you to happy," he said finally. "If you need to do this, then you should."

Doing it probably wouldn't make her happy. But not doing it would probably eat at her, especially if something went wrong that she could have prevented. "I don't want you to think I don't love it here. I never felt trapped."

"I should hope so. I was just. . ." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Trying to help."

"You _did_. I don't want to leave but I just. . . I have to help."

"It's a vortex, you know. A never-ending quagmire of this decade's Boogeyman."

She closed her eyes and sighed. Because he was right and she knew it and she still couldn't turn her back on it. "I was made to help."

He turned towards her. "You're not a weapon, Sharon."

"I was trained to be a spy. I've fought my whole life. I'm immortal and even when I tried to sacrifice myself it didn't take." She spread her hands. "What else am I good for?"

"Anything you want. You're good at everything you do." He spread his arms. "I personally am a fan of not being of use to anybody my own soul and the people I care about, but there's probably a middle ground."

For a moment, she tried to picture it. Her doing something - anything - but fighting. The last months had been heavenly, but not sustainable. She couldn't just laze about reading and fucking for the rest of eternity. 

_You really want to spend eternity at war?_

She ignored that quiet little voice and got to her feet. "I should start packing. Arrange a plane ticket."

Steve turned back to the sink, staring out the windows behind it. "I can drive you to the airport."

Pausing at the base of the ladder, she glanced back at him. "Thank you."

That evening, he sat in one of the adirondack chairs on the deck staring at the ocean, giving her space to collect her things from all over the house. Neither of them seemed hungry—a tremendous feat for the two of them—so there was no dinner. It was chilly and dark when she went out to tell him she was going to bed. He just nodded and said goodnight.

She debated asking if he wanted her to sleep on the couch, since sharing a cold, angry bed with him didn't sound like fun. It would probably just start a fight so she nodded and went back inside, climbing up to the loft.

It hadn't been more than ten minutes of tossing and turning in the dark before she heard the front door. She wondered if maybe _he_ would sleep on the couch, but he climbed the ladder and crawled into bed. There was a moment of still silence, and then he reached out and ran his knuckles along her arm.

Relief flooded her and she reached out, hooking her fingers through his. He gave her hand a tug and she rolled towards him. He met her halfway and they kissed. This, this was something they were good at.

It was slow and intense, with an edge of roughness. It had become quickly obvious that they funneled their emotions and unsaid things into sex. Now they were trying to blend anger and worry and fear and goodbye all at once. Neither of them said anything to each other, not even the usual. Just wordless groans and cries as they moved in the darkness. She wondered if this was the last time she'd ever feel him inside her.

When she came she smothered her cry in his shoulder, biting hard enough to bruise. His fingers dug into her skin with similar force, as if they both wanted to leave a physical mark on the other.

They slept spooned together, and after that they didn't talk much about her leaving anymore. At night they said all their apologies and goodbyes silently, and two days later he drove her north to San Jose to catch her flight. He produced some sort of ID at the airport that got him a pass to walk her to the gate. Leftover perks from being one of the founders of SHIELD, she supposed.

She held his hand as they walked and as they sat in silence waiting for her flight to be called. "I'd like to write you," she said finally. "If you don't mind."

That made him smile. "I'd like that. Nobody writes letters anymore. Or, well, you could email me." He'd shown her how to use email and text messages as part of his "welcome to the internet" tutorial. "I do only get the post once a week or so."

"It'd be like the war. Catching up a batch at a time." She squeezed his hand. "Maybe I'll do both."

They called for boarding, and he lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Promise me you'll take care of yourself?"

"I promise," she said quietly. "Pinky swear."

That made him smile, and he hooked his pinky around hers. "Go." She kissed him one more time, grabbed her bag and headed through the gate.


	4. Right Hand Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update today since I missed Monday's.

_Eighteen months later_

The first time Sharon passed the other woman running, the trail was a little narrow, and she genuinely needed to call out, "On your left" so she wouldn't plow into her. The second time, it was just in case, and she got a sarcastic reply.

The third time she was still a few feet away when she heard the woman say, "Don't say it. Don't you dare."

Unable to resist she said, "On your left" as she passed. The woman cursed and increased her pace, chasing her. Sharon actually slowed down a little so she could keep up.

Back at the clutch of trees at the edge of the Mall she found her red face and chugging a bottle of water. "You almost had me."

She gave Sharon a glare, made all the more impressive by the long scar that bisected her cheek. She kind of expected to get cussed out but instead she said, "You pronate your right foot when you run."

Sharon blinked. "What does that mean?"

"That one of these days you're going to twist your ankle. And break it, if you were anyone else."

"You a medic?"

"Doctor. Newbury. Amanda." She held a hand out and Sharon shook it.

"Sharon Carter. Though clearly you guessed that."

"After the third time you lapped me I started to piece it together." She drank more water, clearly giving Sharon a once over. "How are you holding up? Adjusting the to future and all that."

Putting on her USO smile Sharon launched into her usual schpiel. "Well, the food’s a lot better, we boiled everything. No polio - that's great. And the internet! So helpful."

Amanda smiled. "How many times per day do you say that?"

"Two or three, depending on my schedule. Too rehearsed?"

"Little perky on the internet part."

"That's good feedback, thanks." Sharon smiled and shook her head. "It's an adjustment."

She pulled herself to her feet. "Did a stint with MSF." She gestured at her face. "It got interesting. Then I get home and everyday first world life just seemed so ridiculous." 

It was remarkably rare that anyone tried to see through the public persona she put out. Even other SHIELD agents were fooled by it, other than Barnes. "The beds are too soft," she said and Amanda nodded in understanding. "I feel like I'm going to sink into the floor."

"That you get used to, eventually. I did, anyway. Not sure my bones would tolerate sleeping on the ground anymore."

"Not really a problem for me." The nightmares were worse than the soft bed, if she was being honest, but she didn't want to get into that with a stranger. He phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out to find a text from Barnes. _Mission briefing. I'll pick you up._

"I'm sorry, Amanda. Duty calls." She waved the phone, backing away. "Thanks for the run."

"Any time." She squinted, then added. "I work at St. Ann's. Anytime you want to swing by, arm wrestle some of the assholes I work with. Door's open."

Sharon grinned. "I will keep that in mind."

This mission wasn't terribly different than all the others—except for Barnes's secret side mission nearly getting people killed. She lit into Fury when she got back, which in return prompted him to show her SHIELD's newest terrible idea. Three massive gunships permanently prowling the sky looking for potential bad guys to pick off. That sounded like a great idea.

She desperately missed Steve right then, but it wasn't like she could call him about this. At loose ends, she wandered over to the Smithsonian and visited her own exhibit, which was weird every time she went. It didn't do anything good for the whole missing Steve thing. So somehow she found herself going through the metal detectors at the low-income urgent care clinic attached to a hospital in the worst part of Washington DC.

She got a couple of double takes, though she wasn't sure if that was because they recognized her or simply because she stuck out like a sore thumb. A nurse pointed her to a chair and a few minutes later Amanda appeared, walking with a girl who didn't look old enough to drink. She had a bruise on her throat and a fresh bandage on her forehead. Amanda led her to a chair, then stopped at the front desk and had a quiet conversation with the nurse there.

When she was done she spotted Sharon and grinned, walking over to her. "You came."

"Hi. Yeah. Is this a bad time?"

"Nah, I'm due for a break." 

She lead her to a little room in the back of the clinic that the staff clearly used as a break room. There was a Keurig coffee maker and a mini fridge-microwave combo. Sharon sank into one of the mis-matched chairs with a sigh.

"Bad day?" Amanda asked, going to the coffee maker.

"I guess you could say that. I think I'm. . . feeling my years tonight."

"Getting tired of saving the world?" She filled a cup with hot water, and then dropped a tea bag in it.

Sharon laughed a little. "Sounds awful, but maybe I am. Seems like a battle with no end."

"Oh, well, that I'm pretty certain is true. Tea? Coffee?"

"Coffee would be great, actually." She watched her putter with the machine. "That is also better, by the way."

Amanda tossed her a grin. "I believe you." She brought their mugs over to the table and sat. "So, Sisyphus, what made the rock roll back today?"

Wrapping her hands around the warm mug, Sharon sighed. "A lot of little things. Some I can't tell you, or anyone." She paused. "I suppose sometimes I just can't remember why I'm fighting."

"It gets hard. You start to wonder why all these people are even worth saving in the first place."

"When I start thinking like that I feel like I might be going to the dark side."

The reference made Amanda grin. "Well, a boyfriend used to tell me I'd make a good super villain, so if you wanted to team up. . ."

"I will keep that under advisement." She sipped her coffee. "There is a guy." It came out in a rush, surprising her. "He cares about me. I think I might love him. But when I'm with him I feel guilty. Like I don't deserve to be happy."

"Why wouldn't you deserve to be happy?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe I just forgot how."

"I've been on the other side of that," she said after a moment. "And it's just. . . brutal. If he sticks around, I'm betting he does love you."

That really didn't make her feel any better. "I just don't don't know what to do, if I don't do this."

"Ultimate fighting? Mud wrestling." Sharon laughed. "Do anything you want. Write your memoirs, take up knitting or pottery. Be your own person."

_Don't let them make you forget who you are._ "I'm not sure I know who that person is."

"Do you thinking doing what you're doing is helping you find her?"

Sharon opened her mouth to reply, then stopped. "I don't know."

"Well, what do you know?" She asked it as a genuine question.

She thought about her life now. Missions and snarking with Barnes and the morally grey area that SHIELD seemed to now operate in. She thought about her lonely apartment and the nightmares that had her sleeping on the couch if she slept at all. And she thought about the sound of the ocean and the sun rising through redwoods and a galaxy of stars overhead. "I know I was happy in California. With Steve."

"If you ask me, that seems like a good place to start."

It certainly did. "Thank you," she told Amanda sincerely.

Amanda smiled. "You're welcome." She looked at her watch. "I should get back to it."

"Of course. I should go home. I think I have some phone calls to make."

She was planning her call the Steve the whole way home. It was late here, but still a reasonable hour in California. Hell, she could be on a plane in the morning.  
 Then she walked into her apartment to find a bleeding Nick Fury on her couch and plans abruptly changed.

SHIELD was compromised. Her apartment was bugged and an agent had been planted in the unit next door to "protect" her. Before Fury could properly explain all this mess, someone shot him through the wall. 

She chased the shooter across a couple of roofs before finally catching up with her—it was a woman. Sharon tossed her shield and the assassin caught it. Then she turned and looked at Sharon, red hair and familiar eyes. 

Feeling as if she'd been punched in the chest Sharon managed to get out, "Nat?"

She stared back, like she'd never seen Sharon before. Then she frowned, almost angry. "Who the hell is Nat?"

Before Sharon could even formulate a response, Nat threw her shield back. She barely got her hands up in time to catch it and even then it threw her off balance. When she got her bearings again Nat was gone.

She was still reeling when she got to the hospital, and watched the doctors try and save Fury's life. Hill and Barnes stood on either side of her.

"Ballistics are a dead end," Hill said. "Soviet slug, no rifling."

Barnes looked at her sharply, then down at Sharon, who hadn't said anything. "Was it a small woman with red hair?"

"Barnes," Hill said with irritation. "Not the ghost story again."

Before anyone could reply, on the other side of the glass Fury flatlined. Hill sucked in a breath and stalked down the hall way away from them. Sharon was still numb, barely registering the new wave of grief. She glanced at Barnes to find him glowering at the tableau on the other side of the glass, muscle twitching in his jaw.

The nurses covered Fury's face with a sheet and Sharon found her voice. "Why did you ask me that?"

Quietly he said, "Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe she exists. Those who do call her the Black Widow. She's been credited with something like two dozen high profile assassinations over the last 50 years."

She took a deep breath. "Her name is Natasha."

He stared at her. "You _know_ her?"

"We were in the orphanage together. We went to war together. She fell off a cliff in 1945 but it was her. I'd know her anywhere. She's the closest thing to a sister I have. And she had no idea who I was."

"Wait, wait. You're saying that's Natasha Romanov? I am familiar with your legend." 

She nodded slowly. "It was her. I just don't understand-" She sucked in a breath. "She was captured. In Azzano. She said they experimented on her."

"She cost me my arm," he muttered.

Feeling sick, she reached out and touched him. "I'm sorry."

He glanced over at where Fury's body was being rolled out. "What was he even doing in your apartment?"

Fury had told her to trust no one. That probably included Barnes. But if it did then she was already fucked, so she pulled out the flash drive he'd given her. "He told me SHIELD was compromised."

He looked down at it, then back at her. "I'm not surprised," he said quietly.

The door opened and Rumlow stuck his head in. "Cap, they want you back at HQ for questioning."

She palmed the drive, skin prickling. Rumlow was not on her ever-shrinking list of people she trusted. "Got it, thanks.

"They want you now," he insisted.

"Give us a minute," Barnes barked. Rumlow made a face but ducked out. Barnes looked down at her and opened his hand for the thumb drive. 

Sharon had once been a very good judge of character. Lately she'd started to doubt herself. Plus she'd just told him that the woman who took his arm and killed Fury was her best friend. But at this point the only other person she trusted was 3000 miles away and had no idea any of this was happening. So she took a leap of faith and pressed the drive into Barnes's hand. "Please don't make me regret this."

He nodded, then said, "Watch your back." He paused. "And call Steve and convince him to get on a plane." 

That had already been on her to do list. She nodded, then headed for the door.

Rumlow seemed to think she was going to ride with them, but she told them she wasn't leaving her bike at the hospital, so the rest of the strike team got into their van, and she took her time getting it started, enough time for them to get out of sight. She called Steve, and got voicemail like she expected. Steve's phone was through his internet, and his internet came by satellite, which only seemed to work in good weather—and in good weather he was likely outside. 

"Hi, Steve. It's Sharon. I - this is not how I expected this phone call to go but I'm in a mess and I don't know who to trust." She took a deep breath. "Nat's alive. I saw her, she's alive and she doesn't know who I am. She shot Director Fury, killed him. And SHIELD is in a mess and I'm. . . I don't know what's going to happen but I really need you. So if there's any way you could come to DC I'd really appreciate it." That sounded stupid, like she was inviting him to a party or asking him to help her move. "I really miss you."

At HQ she had a conversation with Alexander Pierce that was filled with subtext and veiled threats. He didn't even wait for her to leave the building before trying to have her killed. The jump out of the elevator was probably in her top five stupidest acts, which was impressive in its own right. And the jet they sent after her just seemed like overkill.

Once upon a time, they'd trained her to be a spy. Hiding was a lot harder now that it had been in the forties, but the basics still applied. New clothes, sunglasses, hair braided and tucked under a hoodie. She ditched her phone as soon as she got off SHIELD property, so she had no way of contacting Barnes or Steve, for that matter. 

Barnes was a spy of the paranoid Cold War variety. He had plans within plans and probably a dozen meet-ups in the city alone. She only knew a handful of them, but moving around seemed like a good idea. So she spent the morning drifting from one gastropub and coffee bar to another, feeling like there was a giant target on her back.

She was just starting to worry when Barnes slid into the booth across from her. "Hey, sorry. Had some things I needed to get." He slid a phone across the table to her. It had a touch screen and was fancier than she'd expected for what had to be a disposable burner phone. He reached over and tapped the screen. "Use this app and it will bounce it through an encrypted service. Text only. SHIELD will be able to trace it eventually, but there's paperwork and possibly a warrant. It'll buy us a couple of days before we have to pitch it. Don't contact anyone you don't want sucked into. . . whatever this is."

"I called Steve but got his voice mail. I should send him something so he knows how to contact us."

He nodded. "There are some other people in SHIELD I still trust, but I don't want to involve anyone until we have more information. Which means figuring out what the hell is on that drive."

Sharon sucked in a breath. "I'd sure like to know what was worth killing Fury and making me a fugitive for." Anger was good. It could fuel whatever was coming next.

"Yeah, I heard about that. You're priority number 1. I'm 'looking for you'." He made air quotes with his right hand—which was when she noticed he wasn't wearing his left arm. "It has a lot of electronics in it," he said when he saw her notice. "Knowing SHIELD there is also a tracker in it." 

"Are you going to be all right?" He scowled and she decided to defuse with humor. "We could get you a nice hook, or chainsaw."

"Don't tempt me, Carter." He gestured to the phone. "Text your man and we'll go find somewhere to read this file."

With a sigh she contemplated the phone a moment. Hopefully Steve had gotten her previous message. _It's Sharon. I had to ditch my phone. SHIELD is trying to kill me. This number is the only safe contact._

The reply was blissfully quick. _Verify?_

Well, he had worked for SHIELD for a long time. What would identify her that wouldn't be easily faked? _Pinky Swear,_ she sent back.

_About to get on the road. 1:30PM SFO - IAD. Land @9:30. Rendezvous point?_

"He's coming into Dulles tonight." She looked up at Barnes. "Where should I tell him to meet us?"

"A hotel in a shady part of town where they're too cheap to have cameras."

_Safe house still in process, I'll send the address when I have it._

_Will get a disposable phone and text you the number._ Steve didn't own a cell phone because you couldn't get a signal anywhere near his house.

_Understood. Have a safe flight._

_Don't do anything I wouldn't do._

Well, talk about loaded statements. She tucked the phone away and nodded to Barnes. "He's on his way. Let's get going."

They found an Apple Store, and Barnes game them nine minutes from plugging in to get it's information before SHIELD found them. It was pretty well locked up, but they did manage to find a location where the file structure was originally created. It turned out to be a very familiar place in New Jersey.

"You think it's a trap?" Barnes asked as they drove. Because they were going there, trap or not. "It's were she was trained, too."

"Why would they set a trap and do everything in their power to prevent us from getting to it?" All evidence indicated they weren't supposed to read that file. "My concern is that it's monitored. We'll be tipping them off regardless of a planned trap or not."

"That's not unlikely. I can only hope the information is worth it. And it's our only option. I don't want to just run and get stuck spending my life in a hut in Venezuela with you and Rogers and your sexcapades."

"None of us want that," she assured him. Glancing over, she added, "We'd find you some nice girl to distract you."

"I can find my own tail, thank you. Mostly I'm going to miss the arm."

Jesus, if he was admitting to missing it it must be killing him. She felt another twinge of guilt. "We'll try to figure out a way to replace it."

They drove in silence for a little bit, then he asked, "You think Stark would be on our side?"

"I think Tony is on his own side. But maybe." She glanced in the rearview mirror, changing lanes. "Depends on what SHIELD's plan is."

"He'd be a useful ally."

"Yes, he would." And not just in connection to getting Barnes a new arm. "He has his own moral code. And he already doesn't trust SHIELD. I think he's far more likely to be on our side than not. Just for spite, if nothing else." She was quiet a moment. "They used repulser tech in the Insight helicarriers. I don't know that he'd approve of that."

"Considering what they're doing with them? _No_." He sat up in his seat. "That's the exit."

The base looked just the same, like it was frozen in time. She parked behind what had been the barracks and she and Barnes climbed out, making their way through overgrown weeds while Barnes waved around some tracker. "I'm getting a real horror movie vibe to this," Sharon commented.

Barnes snorted. "Yeah. I'm not picking up anything, though. No heat signatures, radio waves. Nothing." He sighed. "Maybe they ghosted the signal, to throw people off."

Sharon rubbed the back of her neck and turned in a circle. She very really uneasy. More than just nostalgia and stress. Drifting away from Barnes, she tried to follow the sensation.

"You see something?" he called.

"I think I hear something." There was a building labeled Munitions sitting less than 100 yards from the barracks. It was the only building with a padlock on it. "You know how you say I can hear wifi? I did some reading. There's a thing called infrasound. Sound so low people can't hear it but they sense it. They think it's the explanation behind a lot of ghost sightings. It makes people uneasy or think they're seeing things out of their eye." Lifting her shield she slammed it into the padlock, breaking it. "It happens a lot in labs. Exhaust fans and the like make it."

Barnes joined her at the open door. "You think there's something down there because you have a funny feeling?"

"Got a better idea?

"I am always ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death."

"Well, that's not exactly plan A."

The building they walked into was definitely not a munitions building. Pictures of Howard, Peggy and Steve hung on one wall and there were empty filing cabinets and shelves she was sure once held boxes of paperwork, not bullets. They found a hidden elevator, because of course, and it lead them down to a room that appeared to be an enormous computer.

It was much, much worse than that.

Hydra had, as it turned out, not died. (And neither had Armin Zola) They instead moved into SHIELD like a parasite, and taken over. They'd been fucking with the world ever since. Zola's computerized brain taunted her how they killed anyone who got suspicious—Fury, and earlier Howard Stark.

"For twenty five years we were mostly dormant," Zola told her. "It was too dangerous. Then your friend Mr. Rogers gave us quite the opportunity. He gave up, and quit. He put his personal wants above the safety of the world, and then we flourished. Peggy Carter couldn't be everywhere at once."

Though intellectually she knew it wouldn't do any good, Sharon lifted her shield and slammed it into the monitor, shutting the little man up for a moment before he popped up on a different smaller monitor.

"The flash drive, what's on it?" If she was going to listen to him, he was at least going to tell her things she needed to know.

"An algorithm. Project Insight requires insight."

Something on Barnes's belt beeped and he glanced down. "Sharon, we've got incoming. Short range ballistic, coming right for us."

Zola chuckled. "I'm afraid, Captain, I've been stalling."

Sharon glanced around, looking for shelter. The computer kept talking. "Admit it, it's better this way." There was a grate on the floor. She yanked it up and gestured for Barnes. 

Zola's drives whirred a little and he finished, almost sadly, "We are both of us. . . out of time."

Barnes hesitated before jumping, and lost his balance when he hit the bottom of the vent shaft—probably because he was missing an arm. She shoved him into a corner and covered his body with hers and the shield as the room exploded and rocks rained down on them.

It seemed to take forever. Her arm grew tired and she ducked down closer to Barnes to keep them both as protected as possible. Finally there was silence and utter darkness. She waited a few breaths, then shoved upwards, pushing rubble out of the way. Darkness gave way to the red tinged light of burning wood. 

Sharon gulped in fresh air, then looked back at Barnes, unconscious in the pit. Shifting her shield she reached down and hauled him up into a fireman carry. She heard jets in the distance and, despite the ache in her arms and legs she grit her teeth and went running for the woods. 

He coughed when she put him down, and she pounded his back as he cleared his lungs. "We're going to need to steal another car," he croaked.

"Yeah." She squinted back the way they came. "You said there was people in SHIELD you still trusted?" He nodded, still coughing. "I think we're gonna need to drag them in."

When he got the coughing under control, they started walking in the direction of civilization. "We're going to need somewhere to lay low while I make some contacts."

God, she hated to involve a civilian into this. They were low on options, though. And Steve's plane would be landing soon. "I know someone."

They found a car to steal. The burner phone had been destroyed in the blast, so she had no way to call ahead—or tell Steve where they were going. She'd have to call him when she got there, since pay phones didn't seem to exist anymore.

Barnes crashed by the time they reached Philly. She didn't blame him, they'd both been up 36 hours at his point, and he didn't have superpowers. It had been a godawful day.

The receptionist at the clinic at St. Anne's was remarkably susceptible to social engineering, and it was trivial to get Amanda Newbury's address. She parked up the street from her house, and shook Barnes awake. "Hey, we're here."

He blinked at the street in confusion. "What are we doing here?"

"A friend of mine lives here. Well, there." She pointed back towards Amanda's condo. "She's civilian, but can handle herself. She'll help us out. I hope so, anyway."

He had the strangest look on his face, but got out of the car without a word. In the interest of not horrifying any neighbors driving to school, they hopped a fence and kept off the sidewalk, eventually knocking on Amanda's back door. Barnes was damn near fidgeting by the time she opened the door.

"Hi," Sharon said. "I'm sorry to just show up but we had nowhere else to go."

Amanda looked from one to the other in surprise. Beside her, Barnes said, "Hi, Doc."

"James," she said slowly. "You look like hell."

"Everyone is trying to kill us," he said in explanation.

"Not everyone." She held the door open for them.


	5. Isn't This Enough

Barnes stepped inside and Sharon followed, staring at his back. " _James?_ " She'd never heard anyone call him anything other than Barnes.

They got in the kitchen, and Amanda immediately began poking at the cuts on Barnes's face. "Where is your arm?" 

"The trunk of your car. I had to stash it somewhere that wouldn't look suspicious."

She leaned back to look at him. "We've talked about breaking into my car."

"Okay," Sharon said. "I'm going to need someone to explain this. Now."

"Amanda is ex-SHIELD," Barnes said as she went back to inspecting his face.

Sharon rubbed a hand over her face. "Were you spying on me, too?" she asked, too tired to be angry.

"I was just enjoying a nice jog," Amanda said, going to a cabinet and pulling out a first aid kit. "You were the one who started talking to me."

"She's really a doctor," Barnes said. "And she'd be a terrible spy. Ow!" She had started cleaning his cuts. 

"I know for a _fact_ you have a higher pain tolerance than this."

Looking from one to the other Sharon asked, "And you two have been together how long?"

"We're not together," they said in unison. Then Barnes added, "But you should call Steve, it's almost ten."

Always good to meet people that were as screwed up as she was. "Can I use your phone?" she asked Amanda.

"Of course. It's charging in the living room." She pointed to the hallway.

Sharon nodded and went to hunt for it. After digging it out of the clutter of water glasses and books on Amanda's end table she sat on the end of the couch and dialed Steve's number.

*

There had been no message from Sharon when Steve landed. He tried not to worry—the flight was early and she might be trying to minimize contact as much as possible. He killed time getting himself a rental car. If anyone asked him he was using Fury's death as a cover. 

He'd just shoving his body into the cramped subcompact that was all they had left when his phone rang. It was an unknown DC number. "Honey?" he answered with, not wanting to use her name just case—even though no one else had the number of his burner.

"Hi," she replied, voice rough. "I'm still alive."

Relief flowed through him. "Where are you?"

"A friend's house. Barnes is with me. SHIELD tried to kill us with a missile."

"Jesus, Sharon. You okay? Give me the address, I'll come there."

She rattled off an address in the city. "We'll be here. She's patching up Barnes and I'm hoping for a shower and food before I have to get almost killed again." She paused. "I can't wait to see you."

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he said, and then he hung up so he could drive.

He pulled up in front of the address she'd given him less than an hour later. Slinging his bag over a shoulder he went up to the door and knocked. It was opened by a tall brunette woman with a scar on her cheek. She smiled like they were old friends and held the door open for him to come in. "They're showering."

"Hi. Steve Rogers," he held out his hand.

She shook it firmly. "Amanda Newbury. I'm making them a snack, if you're hungry."

"I'm always hungry," he replied. "Thank you."

He followed her to the kitchen and sat at the island bar. She put a glass of water in front of him, then turned to the oven, pulling out some sort of noodle casserole. Which he supposed if you were feeding Sharon and a male spy who had almost been killed counted as a snack.

She cut him a corner piece and put the plate in front of him. Before he could pick up the fork Sharon appeared in the doorway, closed the distance between them and threw herself at him. He hugged her and lifted her clear off the ground. "I gotcha."

"I have never been so happy to see anyone in my entire life," she whispered.

He closed his eyes and pressed his face into her shoulder. "Me too."

For a few moments they just held onto each other, oblivious to everything else. Then Amanda cleared her throat gently and Sharon leaned back, looking bashful. "Sorry."

She waved her hands. "No, no. That's the most romantic thing to happen in this kitchen in years. I just want to remind you to eat."

Sharon's stomach actually growled and she chuckled. "I wasn't going to forget."

He nudged her into her chair, and held on to her left hand because he didn't want to stop touching her. She squeezed his fingers before digging in. Barnes appeared in the doorway, damp hair and clean shaven in sweats, carrying his metal left arm. "Hey," he said, putting the metal arm on the table to hold out his right hand. "We've never actually officially met. James Barnes."

"Steve Rogers, nice to meet you."

Sharon was looking at Barnes, then at Amanda, who was inspecting the attachment points on the metal arm. She rolled her eyes and shook her head before going back to her food.

Amanda put the arm down and handed Barnes a plate of food. "It's eleven o'clock and so far no one has broken down the door," she said once Barnes was sitting. "I suggest we all get a good night's sleep. In the morning there's a safe house I can take you to."

"Guest room has a queen in it," Barnes said. He pointed at the two of them. "Are you guys good or are you still on a break?"

"Tactful, James."

Sharon gave Steve's hand a squeeze. "We're good."

"I'm too tired for tact," he replied. "I wanted to make sure I didn't have to inflate that stupid air mattress that smells vaguely like feet."

There was nothing Sharon had ever told him about Barnes that would indicate Barnes might have a girlfriend. . . yet clearly he did. It was kind of adorable. For her part Sharon looked rather perplexed.

"Eat your food," Amanda told Barnes with exasperated affection, which only seemed to add to Sharon's confusion.

She ate her last bite of mac n' cheese and washed it down with the juice Amanda had given her. "I'm exhausted. I think I'm at two days without sleep."

Amanda took her plate before Sharon could attempt to clear it. "Guest room is to the left of mine, on the other side of the linen closet."

"Try to keep it down," Barnes said around a mouthful of food, earning him a smack on the back of the head from Amanda.

Steve stood up, still holding Sharon's hand. "Thanks. We'll see you guys in the morning."

"Goodnight," they said in unison and he gave Sharon a little tug to get them moving to the door.

"This is a side of him I've never seen before," she admitted as they climbed the stairs.

"They seem very happy," Steve said.

"They claim they're not together," she informed him in a tone that indicated exactly how much she believed that.

He shrugged, opening the door to the small guest room. The bed looked cozy. "People's perception of relationships are different." For example, he had not know they had been 'on a break', whatever that meant, but he wasn't going to open that can of worms right now.

Sharon sank down on one side of the bed and glanced around the room. "Maybe when I wake up this will all go away."

"I wouldn't object to waking up in California." He kicked off his shoes and stripped down to his underwear.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him before standing to pull the sheets down. "I can't ever thank you enough for coming."

He felt faintly offended, and at the same time he hurt for her. "Of course I came. You needed me." He hadn't even given it a second thought.

"I didn't think you wouldn't I just. . ." She rubbed her eyes. "It's been a hard few days." She tugged off the ill fitting flannel pants she was wearing and slipped under the covers, holding them out for him.

He climbed in, and reached to pull her close. "I will _always_ be there when you need me. No matter what the circumstances of our parting were."

She slid her arms around him, pressing close to nuzzle his shoulder. "I know."

He had never loved anyone as much as he loved her. "Sleep," he whispered. "In the morning you can tell me what happened."

"Okay," she mumbled, relaxing into him. He had the distinct sense she'd been awake only by sheer force of will. And now that she felt safe she was finally allowing herself to relax. Having her body tucked against his made him feel better than he had in months, and he drifted off with her.

He woke up in the darkness to her jerking awake, and he could feel her whole body shaking. He reached to touch her shoulder and got a punch on the jaw in return. The bed rocked as she fumbled her way out of bed, then there was a small crash and the lamp on the nightstand flared to life.

Sharon was poised to fight but after a handful of heartbeats she seemed to recognized him and her whole body sagged. "Oh, God, Steve. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. It was novel that it actually hurt. I'm pretty sturdy." He touched her arm carefully again. "Nightmare?"

She nodded and sank back onto the bed. "I should have known. . . I have them all the time."

"I expect they were stirred up by everything that's happened." He didn't want to push her, but curiosity was killing him. "You said in your message Natasha was alive?"

"God." She covered her eyes with a hand. "She shot Fury. He was attacked earlier and came to my apartment. He gave me a flash drive Barnes stole from a ship earlier. Then a shot came through the wall." Sharon took a shaky breath. "I chased her and threw my shield and she _caught_ it. I recognized her right away. Same eyes, same mouth. I said her name and she didn't recognize me. Nothing. Barnes says she's a ghost story. They call her the Black Widow. She's been killing people for fifty years."

"I've heard of the Black Widow. Peggy and I had a long running debate over whether it was a job title filled by multiple people, or one person who was like me. And, well, you. We know of a number of high profile assassinations, with varying degrees of certainty that it was the Black Widow."

"When she was captive she told me they experimented on her. On some of the other prisoners. She was the only one that didn't die. I never even imagined -" Sharon shook her head sharply. "I should have looked for her. When she fell. I should have looked."

"No one could have expected her to survive that fall. At the time I'd have assumed it would even kill you."

She shook her head again, looking miserable. "What did they do to her? To make her kill like that. To forget me?"

"Some variant of what they did to Barnes, I expect. The Red Room was well known for their brainwashing and conditioning techniques." He tipped his head back, dredging up memories. "There was Russian psychiatrist. Peggy told me about him. Fennhoff, I think was the name. He could hypnotize people and manipulate their minds. Convinced the director of the SSR to strap a bomb vest on. On top of that, I know SHIELD has devices that can wipe memories."

Sharon was quiet a moment. "Hydra was in SHIELD. From the beginning. They recruited German scientists. Including Zola."

"I remember. Closed Howard Stark and I ever came to an actual fist fight. Science does not know political boundaries, he told me."

"He clearly underestimated the power of a true believer." She reached over and curled her hand around Steve's. "Zola's been a brain in a computer since the 70s but apparently he and his have been running the world behind the scenes."

"Clearly we need to take it back."

She was quiet again, looking out the window on the opposite wall. "I was going to quit."

He was so surprised he wasn't sure he heard her right. "You were what?"

"Last night, or whenever it was, when I found Fury in my apartment. I was coming home to call you and tell you I wanted to quit and come back to California." She closed her eyes. "I'm not happy. I feel like I'm losing who I am. I never felt like that with you."

He put his arms around her, and pulled her until they were both laying again. "We don't have to live in the woods if you don't want to. If you want to be part of the world."

"I do kind of like take-out and functional internet," she admitted. "We could split our time. Half in the woods, half out."

"Carmel was nice. Somewhere in that area. San Luis Obispo is about the same distance south. Or somewhere more urban. Big Sur is damp and cold in the winter. A second house for the winter wouldn't be a bad idea."

"We had a day layover in San Francisco last November. It was grey and foggy but the people were nice and the food was amazing." She wove her fingers with his. "We could get a little apartment, spend winters going to shows and eating exotic food. Then summer in the woods to escape the tourists."

"You know, I actually own a building in San Francisco. There's this weird penthouse thing on top, we could live in it. It just needs renovation."

She leaned back. "You own a house in San Francisco?"

"It's actually an old factory. Really gorgeous architecture. They were going to tear it down to build a parking lot, so I bought it." She had both eyebrows up. He couldn't tell what part of that she was skeptical of, so he kept explaining. "It was 1977. It was decrepit, the neighborhood awful, it butted up against the old double-decker freeway. But it had survived the 1906 earthquake and a found an odd appreciation for it's predicament. Got it on the historic register and then got it for a song."

She opened and closed her mouth a couple times. "That's probably a 10 million dollar building now, Steve."

He moved his head back and forth. "The last developer who called me about it—they call regularly—offered me 25. They've been bugging me more than 20 years, ever since the freeway torn down and the Embarcadero built. They want to build fancy condos for rich tech workers. After I bought it, I divided it up into work/live studio spaces. Lofts, they call them now. Leased the bare space out to artists to do as they pleased with." He shrugged. "Most of them have been there for decades, and I only charge enough rent to cover cost. This seems to offend real-estate types." Their offense offended Steve. "There's more to life than profit." 

Sharon's smile was indulgent. "And you saved the penthouse for yourself?"

"When I was setting up the building there was a squatter up there. Harry, his name was. He was a WW2 vet who had what I now realize was very bad PTSD. Said it was the only place he couldn't hear the artillery. So I just kind of let him stay. It's been vacant since he died."

"Oh," she said softly. "That's very sad. And oddly sweet."

"It's a mess up there. But it might be a fun project."

"Well, I'll need something to occupy myself after I stop working."

"I will take care of you," he said quietly. "If you want, of course."

Her chin wobbled dangerously. "No one's ever taken care of me."

"Lots of us tried. Me, the commandos, Nat. You're very stubborn."

"I think I'm ready to let you."

He smiled in the darkness, and leaned in to kiss her. He had no idea what was about to happen, but she'd be with him when it was done, and right now that was enough. "Good."

She touched his cheek as they kissed, tangling together in the little bed. He let his hands wander her. He probably shouldn't—they were in someone else's house—but he'd missed her so much. He could feel her melting under his touch and he just couldn't stop.

The kiss deepened and when he dared stroke a hand over her hip and between her thighs he found the thin cotton of her underwear growing damp. He rubbed her in slow circles through the fabric, half expecting her to stop him, but her kiss only grew rougher and more urgent. 

He didn't want to make too much noise or shake the bed, so when she slid her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, he lifted his head to murmur, "Turn around."

She made a soft, inarticulate sound in her throat. But then she carefully untangled herself from him and rolled over so her back was to him. He pulled her close, so their bodies were spooned together. Now he could touch her everywhere, and easily.

He explored her again, unable to resist the feel of her skin. Rucking up the tank top she'd worn to bed he cupped and shaped her breasts, teasing her nipples into hard peaks. Sharon reached back and gripped his hip, arching back into him. He slid a hand down her stomach, this time venturing beneath the waistband of her underwear, finding soft folds slick with need. The first brush of his fingertips made her shudder, but she stayed silent. 

He knew exactly how to touch her. What pressure. What speed. It wasn't hard to get her rocking and writhing against him. "You're all mine," he whispered.

She gasped, sounding almost surprised, and he could feel her twitch against his hand. "Yes," she breathed. "Yours."

It was such a primal instinct. But so much of her was public, so much belonged to the country and to history. The parts that were just Sharon, and just the two of them in the dark of night. That was his. He tugged her underwear down and the seam along the side ripped. She laughed and groaned a little, and then he tilted her hips so he could slide inside her.

Her body clenched around him and she shuddered again, whispering his name. Cupping her thigh he lifted it a little, giving him room to go deeper. She arched, reaching back to clutch blindly at his hip. The angle like this made it tight, made him move slowly. But God did it feel good. They rocked together and let his hand go wandering. She moaned when she cupped her breast. "Shhh."

She shook her head, but covered her mouth with a hand to muffle the next sound. He'd missed this, unraveling her this way. Sometimes he though making love to him was the only time she really relaxed. The only time she wasn't in control. He squeezed her breast, pinching her nipple hard enough for her to feel it and she bucked, tightening around him. "Yours," she whimpered. "I'm yours."

He trailed his hand down her body and between her legs. Finding her clit made her buck again. "Will you come for me?" he growled in her ear.

Her nails dug into his skin and she rocked her hips, moving against him. When she spoke it was pleading, almost desperate. "Yes, yes. I want to. Please."

He met her, thrusting harder, not caring anymore if the bed shook. Not caring if she cried out. His fingers swirled around her clit, just the way she liked. The touch made her moan and she slapped a hand over her mouth. After that, it seemed like a short, intense climb to her release, her body shuddering and clenching around him, hips still rocking to take him as deep as possible. To draw the pleasure out even more. The sounds she made were muffled but still probably audible outside the room. He pressed his face into her shoulder. He may have even bitten her skin in an attempt to be quiet. As her movements began to slow, he pressed her back against him, holding her still as he felt the orgasm start. She shivered and her nails cut into the skin of his thigh, and then he was gone.

She murmured something he didn't catch as he filled her. Then they just lay together, breathing hard, as their bodies calmed. Sharon felt limp and relaxed in his arms, the last of her tension drained.

"I think we both drew blood," he murmured into her hair.

He felt as much as heard her chuckle. "Clearly, I like when you get all possessive."

Steve snaked an arm around her waist and whispered, "I thought I lost you."

"Never." She covered his arm with hers and gave him a little squeeze. "Not ever."

He closed his eyes. "We have very long lives, and I know there's a lot of yours you haven't gotten to live yet. You don't have to make that kind of promise."

She rolled over in his arms so they were face-to-face. "I think that any living I want to do, I'm going to want you with me to do it." She stroked his cheek, then kissed him. "I love you."

He smiled, and he sighed. "I think I've loved you since 1945."

"Steve." She slid her arms around him and gave him a little squeeze. "I have a lot of catching up to do."

He tucked her against his chest. "You're here and you're mine. That's all I need."


	6. Oceans Rise, Empires Fall

When Sharon woke around dawn, Steve was still out cold. She envied him how well he slept. He'd had a lot of years to make peace with his demons, she supposed. 

She slipped out of the bed and got dressed. Downstairs she found Barnes in the kitchen making coffee. What stopped her in the doorway was the fact that he was humming to himself while he fussed with the coffee maker.

"You know I'm not buying that you and Amanda don't have a thing," she told him. "Not even a little bit."

He looked over his shoulder. "I didn't say we didn't. I just said we're not together."

Well, she knew he was pedantic. "What are you, then?"

Barnes looked irritated. "Friends who sometimes fuck?"

She thought about her conversation with Amanda in the clinic. _"I've been on the other side of that. And it's just. . . brutal."_ Suddenly, it was very clear what she'd meant by that.

"Oh, Barnes." Sharon shook her head. She was not getting in the middle of this. "Fine. You make adorable fuck buddies. What's the plan today?"

"Amanda is taking us to a safe house. She won't even tell me where."

Definitely not getting in the middle of that. Coffee was now filling the pot so she crossed over to get a mug. "It will be nice to have somewhere to hunker down and get a plan going. We've got to get ahead of Project Insight."

"We need more intel. What the hell was that about an algorithm and Insight needing insight." He got milk out of the fridge. "Fuck. You know, when I came here, I thought I was going straight. Fighting for the good guys. This is the bill of goods I was sold."

"There was no way for you to know. They grew under Peggy's nose for decades."

"That does not make it any better."

"I know," she said quietly. She sank into a chair at the table. "Some of it was good. New York, the Avengers."

He leaned against the counter. "When we get another secure line, we should call Barton and tell him what the hell is going on. He's just about the only other SHIELD person left I'm sure isn't evil."

Depressingly, Sharon couldn't think of any others she was certain about, either. "What about Hill?"

He shrugged. "Fifty-fifty. She's impossible to read, even for me."

"That's about where I'm at, too." She sighed and sipped her coffee. "That's not great percentages."

Amanda appeared in the doorway, dressed and lugging a large black duffel bag. "Okay, I have people covering for me at the clinic for the next couple of days. I'll put together some breakfast and then we should get on the road."

Sharon felt a rush of gratitude. "Amanda, are you sure? I'm sure you got out for a good reason-"

"She really didn't," Barnes commented.

Amanda glared at him. "I really did."

"I don't want to ruin the life you've built," Sharon plowed ahead, ignoring them.

She smiled and went to the stove, grabbing a kettle and moving Barnes out of the way to fill it at the sink. "Hey, Captain America is asking me for help. No better reason to get back in." She set the kettle on the stove and set it heating. "I'll get you to the safe house and if I can help with the rest of it then I will. It doesn't mean I'm signing up to be a spook again when the dust settles." Sharon had the feeling that last part was directed at Barnes, who scowled and drank his coffee.

Steve came into the kitchen just then. "Good morning. I see everyone is geared up."

"Sounds like we can leave right after breakfast," Sharon told him.

"I just need to take the arm off," Barnes said with a sigh.

Steve frowned. "No you don't."

"This is SHIELD tech. Lots of electronics in it. Given what we know, I'd be stupid not to assume there's a tracker in it."

"Yeah, I know." He crossed over to the cabinets and opened drawers looking for something. "Take it from someone who lives in the middle of nowhere. Wireless signals of all stripes are more fragile than anyone thinks." He came back with a roll of aluminum foil. "Stick your arm out."

Still skeptical, Barnes obeyed and Steve started wrapping his metal arm in foil.

"This is the single greatest thing I've ever seen," Amanda said, watching with unhidden humor.

"We can unwrap it when we go back for he fight," Sharon said. "They'll know you're there."

"Got any duck tape?" Steve asked. Amanda nodded and rummaged in a couple drawers, before tossing him a roll. It was rainbow patterned.

"Seriously?" Barnes said, sounding pained.

Steve choked on a laugh, and then began wrapping the tape over to secure the foil. "You'd fit in great in San Francisco," he commented.

"I'm starting to wish I'd just taken the damn arm off," Barnes muttered.

Amanda leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I will make you extra bacon."

An hour later the four of them—and Barnes's rainbow arm—got into Amanda's car and she drove them to the safe house. Which turned out to be a large dam several hours out in the Virginia hills.

"You're sure no one else know about this place?" Barnes asked as they climbed out of the car.

"Yes," Amanda said, but didn't elaborate. They filed inside and Sharon suddenly felt on alert. There were other people here, she could hear them.

Clearly Barnes noticed it too, because he was now looking at Amanda with an expression of betrayal. She held up her hands. "Trust me for one more minute," she said. Then she walked down a dark hallway and held a door open at the end.

Sharon exchanged looks with Barnes. She'd known Amanda a couple of days, but no matter how he defined it, he clearly had a long, complicated relationship with her. And he didn't trust easily. Finally, he rolled his shoulders back and headed down the hall towards the room Amanda stood at.

It was a larger room, with one area to the side draped off with plastic. You could see vague shapes on the other side, and hear various things clicking and beeping. The plastic opened and Maria Hill came out through the flaps. Behind her, in a hospital bed surrounded by monitors, was Nick Fury. Very clearly alive.

He shifted, noticing them standing there. "About damn time."

"What the fuck?" That was Barnes.

"When I worked at SHIELD Director Fury and I put into place certain contingencies if there was ever an attempt on his life," Amanda explained. "When I left, it was supposed to be handed off to another staff physician. But he didn't find any that he trusted."

"And I was right," Fury interjected.

"So we agreed I would stay on as his private physician. Should he need it."

"And nobody felt this was worth mentioning until right now." He looked over at Amanda. "I don't know, maybe last night?" Before she could even reply, he looked back at Fury. "We _watched_. Your heart stopped."

"Tetrodoxin B." That was Amanda. "Slows the heart beat to once a minute. Fools your average doctor. At least long enough for Hill and I to get him out." Barnes was glaring at her again. "An attempt on his life had to look successful. To everyone."

"Can't kill what's already dead," Fury said.

"Except for you and Hill. Plus whatever medical assistants you needed to fix him up."

"Barnes—" Sharon started.

"Forget it," he bit out. "We're all learning a lot about trust this week." He looked at Fury. "Glad you're not dead." With that he turned on his heel and stormed off, hopefully to cool off.

Sharon looked over at Amanda. "I'm sorry," she said, for lack of anything else to say.

"It's fine." Amanda gave her the most insincere smile she'd ever seen. "He'll forgive me as soon as he gets horny again." She grabbed her bag and left through a different door.

There was a moment of silence, and then from behind her, Steve said, "I am also glad you aren't dead. But I swear to Christ, Nick, sometimes I have no idea how Peggy didn't punch you in the face."

"Why do you assume she didn't?" he asked with a wheezy chuckle.

Hill folded her arms over her chest. "Carter, how long do you think Barnes needs to cool off? We've got Sitwell locked up in one of the pump rooms and he needs interrogating."

"Interrogation might help with the cool off process," Sharon offered, only half joking.

"Give it five minutes and then go find him. In the mean time, we should swap intel."

"I think that's long overdue, yes."

Barnes got useful information out of Sitwell. They pieced together Hydra's horrifying plan. Fury swore he had no idea about Nat. Steve was particularly angry about what had happened to Howard. He and Fury bickered about how deep the infection had to go, and how much was savable.

Sharon, for her part, sat at one end of the table, going over all of it in her head. It seemed like since she'd woken up everything had been shades of grey. Even this. What was SHIELD and what was Hydra? How could anybody ever trust that the infection was gone?

"It all goes," she said quietly and the bickering men went quiet. She met Steve's gaze, then Fury's. "SHIELD. Hydra. It all goes."

They both turned and looked at her. "What?" Steve asked.

"You can't possibly—" Fury started.

She held firm. "There's no salvaging. There's no picking up the pieces. Hydra isn't a tumor you can cut out and go on merrily as if nothing happened; it's an infection."

"Gangrene," Amanda said. "Whole limb has to go."

Steve sighed. "She's right."

Fury still looked incredulous. When he looked at Hill she nodded as well. "Barnes?" he asked, turning to him.

"Burn it and salt the earth," he replied with no hesitation.

He sighed heavily and nodded. "Okay. First we need to bring those helicarriers down."

"Stark could figure out how," Barnes said.

"I'm guessing Stark is on the algorithm's list," Sharon added. "Could we get him down here in time?"

"Are we sure we can trust him?" Hill asked. 

Steve pinned her with a glare. "Hydra murdered his parents to maintain their cover. I think he'll be on our side."

"You can't tell him that," she replied. "You really think he'd calmly sit here and figure out our technical problems? Or would he strap on his armor and go crashing through Pierce's window?"

"That's not the worst idea ever," Fury muttered.

She was still looking at Steve and a thought hit her like a thunderclap. "No. No it isn't."

"You're making the Jump Without a Parachute Face," Steve said.

Barnes leaned over. "Is that what that expression is called?"

"Pierce doesn't know you've talked to us," Sharon said thoughtfully. "He might not even know you're in DC."

"You want me to go punch him in the face?"

"I want you to get a meeting with him and stop him from launching Insight."

He stared at her. "I have no idea how I would possibly do that."

"Punching in the face sounded like a good plan," Amanda offered.

"You might only need to stall him," Hill said, getting everyone's attention. "The Insight algorithm is housed on server blades. Take them out and they'd have no way of calculating targets. They'd be dead in the water."

Sharon tipped her head back. "So if I can infiltrate and dismantle the carriers than it won't matter if they launch or or not."

"You have to blow them up," Fury said. "Or they'll just try again later."

"Explosions it is."

"This is such a Carter plan," Barnes muttered.

It was a plan, however, that worked. They came up with the efficient but crazy idea that they should have the insight carriers shoot _each other_. This required not just yanking the targeting blades, but replacing them. Everyone insisted she be the person who called Tony Stark about it. Barnes said he liked her best.

He made her put Fury on the phone so he could yell at him for a good five minutes, then it was handed back to Sharon. "Best I figure, they keep some level of tabs on me. I'm not inconspicuous." That was the understatement of the century. "I should fly them to you at the last possible moment, or I'll tip them off."

"How fast can you get down here?"

"Well, I can fly halfway across the world in a few hours, so. . ."

She rolled her eyes, which made the rest of them smirk. "Once we're in position, we'll give you the okay. We have to assume everyone onboard is Hydra. We can't give them any time to prepare."

"I'll come in with guns blazing," he said, and she could hear his stupid cocky grin. But the man could sure as hell handle himself in a fight, and she was glad he was coming.

"I'll see you soon, then." They hung up and she scrubbed a hand over her face. "Well, that's one more ally."

Steve arranged for his meeting with Pierce, who was happy to talk to him and invited him to come see "something special". They had their in. That night they slept on a shared bedroll on the cold stone floor, tangled together. At some point Steve woke up and left, telling her to go back to sleep. In the morning she woke to the sound of Amanda telling someone they were a sentimental old fart. She assumed Steve.

When she went out into the main area, she discovered that he and Barnes had broken into the Smithsonian and stolen her replica WW2 uniform from the display.

She trailed her fingers over the dark blue leather and looked up at him. "You didn't have to do this."

"If you're going to go to war, you gotta wear a uniform."

She reached out and hugged him tightly. "Thank you," she said softly.

"I think it's a weird sex thing," Barnes offered, causing Amanda to sigh deeply.

"I do find her uniform hot," Steve replied. Then he lowered his voice down for just her to hear. "She'll probably be there. I don't know, maybe it will jog something."

Sharon nodded, taking a deep breath of his scent to reassure herself. "I never liked the stealth suit they made for me."

"This is the real you." He tipped her chin up. "I love you. Go kick some ass."

She went with Barnes and Hill to do their infiltration while Steve borrowed a car to go to his meeting with Pierce. Sharon sort of hated the fact she was sending him into the lion's den alone, but trusted him to handle himself.

Getting into the building was easier than she'd expected - clearly a few people still respected Captain America when they saw her. Taking a chance, she stepped up to PA system mic and put out a call to arms. Despite her and Barnes's more pessimistic fears, she had to believe there was still good people in the building. People who would be as horrified and disgusted by Hydra as they were. People who would help.

At the very least the chaos of the announcement would slow down the launch.

They stayed on the ground long enough for her and Barnes to fight their way through and each get on one of the carriers before they lifted up. She was just starting to worry about the whereabouts of their replacement targeting blades when loud rock music blasted in her ears over her comm. She actually flinched—modern music really was terrible.

"Oh, fuck you, Stark," yelled Barnes, apparently sharing her sentiments. 

"Respect the classics," he replied, shooting past the helicarrier she was on.

Oh, what she would give for the ability to pump some swing music into the comm system. "Do you have the blades?"

"Yes, where are—oh there you are. You're wearing your spangly outfit." He made a mid-air turn, coming back to spray the guys she was fighting with lasers or whatever it was he fought with. He landed beside her with a thunk. "Cap'n."

"Stark." If they were different people, she might have hugged him. The firm nod seemed to be sufficient.

He opened some compartment on his suit and pulled out three large computer chips. "As ordered."

Sharon took one. "I'll get this one. Can you handle number two?"

"First I need to go find Barnes and give him his. Then yes." He leaned back and fired out of the repulser in his palm, then looked over the side at the Potomac. "I guess I should double back to give Barnes a lift down, too. I don't think he's as fond of jumping into the drink as you."

"I'm really not," Barnes replied, sounding like he was in the middle of a firefight. "And help now would be useful, too!"

"That's my cue," Stark said, and blasted off.

Sharon watched him a moment, then set her sights on the door to the carrier at the other end of the runway. There was at least a dozen guys between her and it, but also tons of cover. It was a quick game of cat and mouse, taking them off one at a time before hitting the door.

"Eight minutes, Cap," Hill said in her ear.

"Working on it," she replied, running upstairs two at a time.

The targeting scanners were at the glassed in bottom of the carriers, the central computer accessible via catwalk. And that was where she finally found Natasha.

She stood between Sharon and the server, arms loose at her side, face expressionless. Sharon eased down the catwalk, watching for any sudden movements. "I don't want to fight you, Nat," she said. No reaction. "But people are going to die." She stopped a few feet from her, but still no response. Breathing hard around the lump in her chest Sharon all but whispered, "Please don't make me do this."

Nat launched at her, and then she was too busy fighting for her life to feel anything. 

*

Steve had hired Alexander Pierce 1958. He'd done a stint at at SHIELD in its infancy, then the state department and various other things before making a full circle. You'd think after half a century, you'd know someone. 

They were at a stalemate now. Steve had a small bomb attached to his lapel. Similar ones had killed the rest of the World Security Council. Steve's hadn't been detonated yet. "You were a last minute add-on," Pierce told him. "Not enough time to discern if you'd survive or not."

Steve didn't know either. Neither knew if Pierce would survive the gunshot Steve would invariably get off before he fell. So they stood there waiting for one of them to blink, watching the Insight carriers rise.

"Jack Kennedy," he said. "That was you guys, wasn't it?" When Pierce just started at him, he added. "Only one of us is leaving here alive, what does it matter?"

He seemed to consider that, then lifted a shoulder. "Kennedy. King. The other Kennedy. Others we got to before they got famous enough to cause trouble. World peace is a full time job."

"I'm not seeing how those people interfered with world peace."

"It's a long game. Humanity need to be broken. To surrender. We gave JFK the most perfect opportunity possible to go to war with the USSR and he made peace with Kruschev instead. Don't even get me started on King. We need hatred and distrust and violence, not tolerance and understanding."

"Oh, of course, God forbid," Steve muttered. 

"It would have been much harder if you'd stuck around," Pierce commented. "Howard, we killed. Peggy we poisoned. Nick we duped—mostly. You left before we had to try and take out someone who might be immortal. Thanks." 

Steve clenched his jaw, deciding not to ask what he meant by "poisoned", though he could well guess. He also decided not to take the bait Pierce was so obviously dangling. If he was going to feel guilty, he could do it later. "You're welcome."

Pierce chuckled, and gave a nod of acknowledgement. Beyond the windows over the river, the carriers began firing at each other. 

They both watched for a moment. Pierce looked disappointed more than angry. "Such a waste, he muttered, shaking his head.

"It all is," Steve replied, feeling old.

"So what now?"

"We lay everything bare. Sunshine is the best disinfectant, you know. You're going to help us put SHIELD's file on the internet."

That got a snort. "Rogers, you can barely operate a cell phone."

"I know. Company is coming." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the red and gold shape rocketing towards them. _Straight_ towards them. Hill sure read that man like a book. "You might want to duck," he added, just before Iron Man smashed through the window 

Pierce managed to stagger out of the way of the crash but not the right hook Stark put in his jaw. "That was for Dad."

Steve couldn't help but think Howard would have been proud of that entrance.

Stark's mask turned toward him. "You got the drive?"

Steve held it out while Stark's suit peeled open so he could step out. Then he crouched over Pierce and took the detonator out of his hand. He'd pulled the bomb off already, but you couldn't be too careful. "I hope you didn't kill him, we need his eyeball."

"I didn't and no we don't. Your clearance should be sufficient."

"Assuming it's still active."

"It is, your biometrics still open doors. There are a class of IDs mostly used for server and automated process but for some reason also a few legacy employees who predate when SHIELD started computerizing that don't require automatic re-authorization. One being you." He paused in his typing to point at Steve. "Your password indicates we need to have a serious conversation about data security."

"I didn't even know I had a password." 

"That explains why it's 1234password."

The door slammed open and Steve began to bring the gun around before it registered that it was Hill. "We need to move, how much time you need Stark?"

"Ten minutes," he said.

"Where's Sharon?" Steve asked.

Hill shook her head. "She went dark when the carriers went live. She was fighting Romanov."

He watched the crashing, burning helicarriers, feeling helpless. "Barnes?" 

"Safe on the ground," Stark said from behind him.

She could survive the fall, he reminded himself. She'd survived a plane crash before. They'd fish her out of the water. Not sure she was fireproof, though.

"Got it," Stark said. "Rogers, come look into this for me."

He went to the scanner Stark pointed at. It acknowledged his clearance, then requested a second Alpha Level clearance. Stark made a noise as Steve went to haul Pierce up. "Don't worry, it will work even if he is dead."

Steve found that a little disconcerting. Pierce groaned and opened his eyes to glare at them, which Steve took as an opportunity to face him at the scanner. "Access granted," the computer's voice said. 

"Stark. . ." Hill said in warning. Steve looked up and one of the carriers was careening right into the building. The whole thing shook when it hit, and the power failed.

"Shit," Steve said, dropping Pierce who staggered back to the wall.

"Nah, all I needed here was access. Data centers are off site." He climbed back into his suit. "Leave him. I can only carry two."

The Iron Man armor could lift tanks. Not that Steve was going to mention that. He was impressed Stark hadn't just openly thrown Pierce out the window.

For a moment, he wondered what Sharon might say about them leaving Pierce to die. He didn't have the time or energy for a debate with Stark. And Pierce was probably too dangerous to keep in a cell, anyway. That's how this whole mess started in the first place. So he stepped forward and slung an arm around Stark's shoulders as the building shifted beneath them.

"There are definitely pornos that start like this," Stark muttered as Hill did the same on the other side, and then he took off. He brought them to the other side of the Potomac where other refugees from the building had begun to cluster. There, the watched the Triskelion crumble and burn, the helicarrier sticking out of it like a blade.

Barnes found them, with a bleeding wound on his forehead, and nursing another on his arm. "Where's Carter?"

"Nobody saw her come out of the river?"

"Not that I've heard," he said, shaking his head. "I'd hoped she'd found you."

"No," he said quietly, staring at the burning wreck with a pit in his stomach.

Barnes blew out a harsh breath. "She can survive that, right? You guys are immortal. That's. . . that's not nearly as bad as the ice thing."

Stark had put his visor up to watch the carnage. It snapped back into place. "I'll start looking."

Steve nodded, and he took off. He glanced over at Barnes and said, "I think we can still drown."

He ground his teeth and scanned the crowd. "I'll see if I can recruit some people to search the shore."

"I'll go," Steve said. He should have thought of that, but panic had managed to freeze him.

Barnes nodded. "Take this side of the river. I'll grab a few more people and start on the other." He touched his ear like something came through his comm. "How far down?" He looked back at Steve. "Stark says she's half a mile down, this size. There's someone with her pulling her out of the river." He looked straight at Steve. "Red hair."

Steve took off at a run.


	7. Teach Them How to Say Goodbye

Everything hurt.

That was actually sort of novel. Sharon couldn't remember the last time she'd been in this much pain. She'd been utterly exhausted after the Battle of New York, to the point of falling asleep in her shawarma. But nothing like this.

It took her a moment to gather the energy to open her eyes. She thought she was in a hospital. She definitely wasn't in the carrier anymore. Or the river. There was a definite antiseptic smell to the air and she could hear the beep and whir of machines. There was something heavy pinning her legs. Curious as to what the hell had happened after she crashed the carriers, she opened her eyes.

She was in a hospital bed. The weight she felt on her legs was Steve's arm draped over them. He was in a chair and slumped over the foot of the bed, asleep. One arm stretched out to touch her. She smiled at the sight, taking a deep breath. She was probably running out of second chances. But she was grateful for this one.

It hurt like a bitch but she managed to stretch an arm out and touch his hair. He opened his eyes and lifted his head. "Sharon."

"Hi," she said softly.

He sat up so he could come closer, and take her hands. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"I know, I know," he said. "I'm sorry." He reached to carefully touch the side of her face. "I love you so very much."

Closing her eyes a moment, she leaned into his touch. "I love you, too. I'm glad you got out okay."

"We finished the mission. Pierce is dead. SHIELD is in ruins. I might be in some trouble, but Stark has promised me good lawyers."

She frowned. "Why are you in trouble?"

"SHIELD was dirty. Pierce is dead, Fury's 'dead', Howard's dead and Peggy doesn't know what year it is. I'm the last man standing in the musical chairs blame game."

That made sense in a certain "god forbid we don't have a scapegoat" way. She sighed. "Too chickenshit to come after me?"

"You were in the ice during the founding and corrupting of the agency."

"I did cause a significant amount of property damage though."

"I'm sure someone will be mad about that eventually. Maybe we'll get matching orange jump suits."

"I bet you look good in orange." She sighed and closed her eyes again. "Everyone else okay?"

"Not much more than cuts and bruises." His eyes searched her face for a moment before saying quietly. "She pulled you out of the water."

Sleep had been tugging at her, but that was enough to roust her. "Nat? Did you see her?"

"No. Stark did, though. Said you were being pulled ashore by a woman with red hair." 

"We fought. In the final carrier. She was trying to kill me, said I was her mission."

"Did she know you? At all?"

"At the end. . . she got stuck and I went back for her." She met his gaze. "I couldn't just leave her. She attacked me again and I told her try to remember who she was. And she stopped and looked confused. Then the glass gave and I don't remember what happened."

"Apparently she saved your life." His voice caught, and he cleared his throat.

"Maybe there is something left of her, after all." Sharon lifted a hand and touched his cheek. "I'm okay."

"You are seriously injured," he replied. "Anybody else would be dead."

"So no dancing date tonight?"

That made him smile, which was what she wanted. He looked so worried. "Maybe next week."

"Mmm." She was losing the fight with sleep again, so she closed her eyes. "In San Francisco."

"I love you," he said. "I can't wait."

Smiling, she nodded and drifted back to sleep.  
 When she woke again she felt noticeably better and opened her eyes to find Amanda at the foot of the bed, reading her chart. She had a rather obvious hickie on her neck.

"I see you and Barnes made up," Sharon murmured.

Amanda smiled. "Nothing like a near death experience or two to put things in perspective. Your healing is remarkable."

"So I've been told."

"You're probably only going to be in here another day or so. Maybe less."

"That's good news. Where's Steve?"

"I sent him home to change and shower and eat a few thousand calories. He'll be back with some dinner for you soon."

The mention of food had woken her stomach up, so that was excellent news. "You patch me up?"

"I helped. The other doctors were glad to have someone with at least a cursory understanding of the serum. I studied it when I was at SHIELD." She hung the chart up. "It was a near thing."

"Yeah. Steve said."

"For what it's worth, I'm pretty sure you and Steve are not immortal."

"Well, I'm told I almost died, so I figure enough damage will do it eventually."

"Your body has an amazing ability to heal, but a certain volume of injuries would overwhelm that. Extreme blood loss, for example. Decapitation would certainly do it."

This was a grim conversation, but someday she'd probably be glad of it. "Good to know."

"Just struck me as a horrible thing to live with," she said. "Immortality."

"It is. Though, Steve's lived with it longer than I have."

Amanda nodded. "What you will not do, as far as I can tell, is decay. He's not aging, I have no reason to think you will. There will be no illness or old age that takes you." She tiled her head. "Biologically speaking, cancer might be a possibility. Though I expect it to be highly treatable as your body could take far beyond a normally fatal dose of chemo." 

"So it's suicide or major catastrophe?"

"Pretty much, yes." Amanda didn't sugarcoat.

"Always good to have options." She shifted uncomfortably and Amanda came over to rearrange her pillows and hand her the bed controls. "Where are the others?"

"Hill and James are dealing with SHIELD fallout. Apparently someone took the opportunity of the chaos to liberate the Fridge."

Sharon sighed and wondered if she was going to need to get involved in that. "Well, fuck."

Amanda made a noise of agreement. "They're keeping me posted. Lazarus is tying up some loose ends and will be departing for Europe in a few days, against his doctor's orders. He'd like to say goodbye before he does."

"I'll squeeze it into my schedule."

"Don't overdo it," she said. "And I'll see when we can spring you."

"Thanks." 

Amanda checked her monitors and made some notes, then left. Sharon made a valiant effort to watch some TV but drifted off in the middle.

When she woke up, Steve was there again, reading a book with his feet propped up on the end of her bed.

"Hi," she said softly, fiddling with the bed controls to sit up more.

"Hey," he said with a smile. "I made some calls about getting renovations started in San Francisco."

"Good. Amanda said she'd talk them into letting me go in a day or two."

"We can either go back to the woods until the loft is done, or we can find a short term rental in San Francisco."

She stretched her legs under the blankets, gingerly feeling for sore spots. "I think I'd like some time in the woods."

Sharon could actually see his sigh, and tension leave his shoulders. He'd have gone where she wanted, but it was obvious what he preferred. "Good." 

"Something to look forward to." Surprisingly, nothing hurt. She felt like she could get up and walk, though she suspected Steve would have something to say about it. "Is there food?"

He leaned over and hit her buzzer. "They said they'd bring it when you woke up."

It put him close enough she could lean forward to kiss his cheek. He turned his face towards her, and then he kissed her mouth. Which was exactly what she'd hoped would happen. Sighing, she cupped the back of his head, sinking into him. He let the kiss go on a bit, before lifting his head. "Sharon."

She smiled, knowing full well they weren't going to get frisky in her hospital bed. "I'm looking forward to being alone with you again."

He groaned. "Not until you are fully healed."

"I heal really fast."

He shook his head, and kissed her again, sliding his hands under her body to hold her closer. When he pulled back it was just enough to whisper. "For a moment there I thought I lost you."

She rested her head on his forehead. "I'm so sorry, Steve."

He cupped her jaw, and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Don't do it again."

"I promise." She smiled. "Pinky swear."

*

They met Fury at his fake grave to say goodbye. It was a surreal conversation, particularly the part where he tried to convince them to come hunting for Hydra cells with him.

"I'm well past retirement age," Sharon told him. "There's a cabin in the woods with my name on it. But I wish you the best."

Steve looked over his shoulder to see Barnes and Amanda getting out of a car and starting towards them. Barnes was carrying a file. Steve waved.

"You're really going to go hibernate again?" Fury asked.

"I am. You know, I was heading home to call you and quit when you showed up in my apartment. There are worse missions to go out on."

He made a disgruntled noise, but said, "I suppose so." Steve gave him a hard stare just for good measure.

Sharon stepped forward and hugged Fury, clearly being very careful. "Be safe, Nick."

He nodded, gave Amanda and Barnes a similar nod of acknowledgement and strolled away, onto his next adventure. Sharon smiled at the others as they reached them. "Here to pay your respects?"

Barnes held out the file to her. "I called in a favor with some old friends in Kiev."

She hesitated a moment before taking it. "Thank you."

"Be careful," he said quietly. "You might not want to pull on that thread." Sharon opened it, and clipped to the inner cover was a photo of Nat.

He heard her sharp intake of breath and she closed the folder again. "You going with Fury?"

Barnes shook his head. "No."

"Staying here?"

"I have some appearances I need to make in Congress. After that?" He lifted a shoulder and glanced over his shoulder at where Amanda was a few steps away, reading Fury's tombstone. "I've been promising her a vacation. Maybe I'll finally do it."

Sharon followed his gaze. "Do me another favor, Barnes?" She looked at him. "Don't break her heart anymore."

He cleared his throat and looked down. "We're not any-"

"Barnes."

Silence stretched a moment. "Yeah. I know."

This seemed like a personal enough conversation Steve ought to step back, but before he could Sharon reached behind herself and took his hand. "It's hard but it's worth it."

Barnes's gaze went to their link hands, then over his shoulder at Amanda. "Yeah," he said softly.

The doctor strolled over to them. "Is the spy stuff done or should I find other gravestones to be fascinated by?"

"We're good," Sharon told her and Steve noticed Barnes reached out and took Amanda's hand.

"You're welcome to come visit us out in California any time," Steve said.

"I might take you up on that," Amanda told him. She stepped forward and hugged Sharon with her free arm. "I'm not sure if this is the right thing to say, but I'm glad we met."

Sharon grinned and looked a little teary. "Back at you." She gestured at Barnes. "You'll keep an eye on him for me?"

"It's practically second nature at this point."

Steve shook both their hands, and then he and Sharon walked back to their rental car. Their flight to California left that afternoon.

She sat in the passenger seat with the file on her lap, but didn't open in. "I might need to stop somewhere and buy clothes," she said. "My apartment is still a crime scene."

"Barnes broke in and packed you a bag, it's in the trunk."

That made her smile. "Ten bucks says there's no underwear."

"He a commando kind of guy? No, actually, I don't want to know that."

"Are you sure? Because I know _way_ too much about Barnes." A look of horror crossed her face. "Which I now have to completely reevaluate because I know about Amanda."

Steve cleared his throat, asking a question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to. "Were you guys ever. . ."

She turned the horrified look on him. "Do not finish that sentence."

He went about starting the car, and shrugged. "Seemed fair to ask."

"No," she said firmly. "There's been no one since. . . you."

He glanced at her as he pulled out into the street. "Is it too caveman that that makes me really happy?"

"Probably. But we're from a simpler time."

Steve reached out and took her hand. "We'll be okay."

She squeezed his fingers. "We will. I have faith."

They got a lift back to California on Stark's private jet, since he was heading out to Malibu anyway. Steve was grateful not to have to deal with being recognized, not to mention the other annoyances of commercial air travel. Stark was in the back, preoccupied with analyzing data from the SHIELD dump, so the had the main cabin to themselves.

Sharon was leaning on his shoulder, a warm, familiar weight. He thought she might be napping when she stirred and said, "I should take up a hobby."

It wasn't the worst idea, given how restless she got. "Any ideas?"

"I don't know." She tipped her head to look at him. "I can't draw, like you."

"It's too bad, your eye for composition is excellent."

"And the cabin and your property is just loaded with beautiful views." She considered a moment. "I could get a camera."

He turned and looked at her. "Our property."

She smiled brilliantly. "Ours."

"And yes. We should get you a camera."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end :) 
> 
> We have sequels planned though no dates set. Stay tuned.


End file.
